


Something Beautiful II

by KalendraAshtar



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Complete, F/M, Fluff, Rom-com, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2020-06-22 15:42:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19672567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KalendraAshtar/pseuds/KalendraAshtar
Summary: Sequel to "Something Beautiful". After their friendship has been set afire, Claire “Sassenach” Beauchamp and Jamie “Duck” Fraser navigate their budding romantic relationship, until Claire realizes it’s time to make a bold choice.





	1. Knickers

##  **Part I - _Knickers_**

Waking up with the gripping feeling of being severely late (a premonition mercilessly confirmed by the digital numbers shining on my phone’s screen), I scurried from bed like an escaping little animal in the woods, heading directly to the drawer where I kept some personal items in Jamie’s house, before I raced to the shower. Tired of watching me carry back and forth an overnight bag, after three months of frequent sleepovers, he had presented me with the spacious top drawer of his commode and an empty shelf in the bathroom cabinet, for me to do as I wished. Jamie had also gained access to a section of the closet in my house, and he kept a spare blue toothbrush in close collusion with mine on the lavatory of my own bathroom.

Opening the drawer with a dry thud, I scavenged inside with a sleepy hand, searching for the feel of clean, soft, cotton underwear to wear under my work scrubs. Finding only the polished wooden surface, I deigned to really open my puffy (and slightly bleary) eyes for better inspection, detecting only a rumpled pair of jogging shorts, a comfortable bra in midnight blue, an old _Fringe_ t-shirt and a sexy midi skirt, patiently awaiting for the next available date night. _No trace of underpants anywhere._

“ _Fuck.”_ I cursed wholeheartedly, if not very loudly, while impatiently brushing sleep away from my face.

“What are you doin’, _Sassenach_?” Jamie’s groggy voice sounded from the bed, fairly muffled from the covers he had thrown over his head after first daylight appeared on the curtains. He had been working a string of long overnight shifts in the last few days, and looked unusually tired because of that effort. “Ye look like a wee desperate squirrel, scouring about.”

“I’m out of clean knickers, Duck.” I explained, glancing at him over my shoulder. Jamie looked deliciously undone and unpoised peeking at me from his nest of blankets; his copper, cinnamon and roan mussed up hair a true work of art of my own creation ( _the weapon I had brandished in response to the assault of his hungry mouth over my body last night)._ After five months of being his _girlfriend_ , the awkwardness had almost entirely disappeared between us, leaving us in perfect possession of each other in all the ways that mattered. “You know, I’m _not even sure_ that I have clean briefs in my own house. I haven’t been there to do the laundry in ages. What an absolute disgrace.” I puffed, defeated.

“Feel free to borrow some of mine.” Jamie laughed quietly, finally kicking the covers away from his lazy body. “Or ye could _go commando_ today.” The thought seemed to revive him considerably, the corner of his mouth perking up. “I might visit ye later at the hospital, actually. To see how ye’re faring and that ye’re not too fraught, aye?”

“You horny human.” I rolled my eyes in feigned incredulity, although a sharp ache ( _like a targeted arrow_ ) shot up my lower body, fired by the thought of a dangerous and sweaty quickie in the narrow on-call room. It was a yet _unfulfilled fantasy_ and I had come close to propose it during one of his visits at the hospital. “I need to go home tonight and pretend I have it together, like a _normal person_.”

Jamie sauntered off the bed, unnervingly gracious and unchaste for such an early hour - when my defences of propriety and decorum were barely half-erected, and thin as a gossamer veil against the force of his sensuous smile and sleep-warm body.

I waited for him to come closer (all urgency and lateness put thoroughly aside), acutely feeling the memory of the sting on my left nipple against the fabric of the sleeping shirt, where he had bitten me skilfully to enhance my pleasure when I came undone on the previous night . He smiled - an exquisite blend of tenderness and mischief that I came to recognize was _his_ and _his alone_ -, and he playfully grabbed a handful of cloth from the front of my shirt and purposefully pulled me towards him, so that our hips came in full contact. “Ye like to borrow these _well enough_ , _ye wee thief_.”

It was an _undeniable fact_. Whenever I slept with Jamie (which had quickly become more often _than not_ ), I was either naked, wearing only flimsy undergarments, or demurely covered with one of his oversized t-shirts and sweaters, acting as if I didn’t own a single set of pyjamas of my own. There was something about the _nearness of him_ that sheltered me in a way no fabric could. “ _Oh_.” I inspected the old and baggy black _Inverness_ sark (with a small _Saltire_ etched upon the heart’s area), feeling called out on my mushiness. “Do you mind much?”

Jamie inspected me intently, his large palms perfectly framing my waist, the blue of his eyes sporting infinite shades from clear skies to bottomless lochs, from hints of storms to the appearance of first stars. “Nay.” He asserted huskily. “I like it better _on ye,_ _mo nighean donn.”_

I hummed contentedly, brushing my cheek against the coarseness of his growing stubble. _God_ , the feeling of being permanently melting around him, no more than a pliable material for his hands to shape at will - it made me almost ashamed, _but not quite_. “You do?”

“ _Hm hm_.” He confirmed emphatically, blowing softly - _teasingly_ \- against the curve of my neck, that naked pillar where my blood danced tirelessly to his song. “Almost as much as I like _to take it off ye_. There’s _something_ about stripping ye naked of my own shirt; there’s no thrill _quite like it_. Not even diving from a helicopter at thirty feet into deep and raging waters.”

I snorted, a sound between amusement and bone-deep arousal, sensing that it would take him no real effort to have me spread my legs and beg him to take me on top of the dresser. I brushed the lobes of his ears with my thumbs, a recent discovery in the arsenal of _making-Jamie-slightly-crazy_ -with-need, and he laughed - a high-pitched and unexpected chime, like a string of a violin breaking amidst a perfect concert.

“ _Christ_ , ye’re lovely like this.” Jamie whispered, delicately tracing the edge of my jaw, a movement that became a swirl close to my bottom lip. “Sometimes it’s like seeing ye again for the first time and I’m sae moved by ye.”

“You need to wash your face, Duck.” I raised my brows, flushing brightly under his close attention and increasingly stung by self-awareness. “That’s most definitely _sleep talking_.”

“ _Dance with me_.” He asked, _dead-serious_ , lazily caressing the centre of my back until my toes felt like curling. There was a promise in his eyes that I couldn’t quite decode, the letters mixing and trembling before I could summon perfect sentences, evading in a heartbeat.

“ _Dance_?” I quirked a brow, mystified even if strangely pleased. “You want me to dance with you, _right now_ \- at half past six in the morning, barefooted, with unwashed hair and with the real threat of being _knickerless_ for the day looming about?” Jamie nodded in confirmation, nonplussed, and I chortled. “But there’s _no music_!”

“Oh, aye.” Jamie squinted and scrunched his nose, cheerfully palming one of my buttocks. “If only we could use _Spotify or something_ , instead of going into the attic in search of a gramophone like one usually does.” With two long strides from his powerful swimmer legs ( _toned, unyielding when I was on top of them, coloured like honey from his jogs outside wearing shorts_ ), he grabbed his phone and selected a song on his playlist, looking like a man with a plan _(a plotting man)._

Within moments _Otis Redding_ sang “ _These Arms Of Mine”_ in the cool half-light of the bedroom and Jamie promptly glued our bodies together, my cheek pressed against his shoulder as we swayed along the melodic ballad in a slow dance. His hands were firmly planted on my hips, as I squeezed his shoulders, a quiet happiness enveloping me against the chill of the early morning, the rest of the coming day kept at bay by his arms hugging me tight. It was _delirious_ and _quirky_ and _perfect_ and _natural_ , that dishevelled and hearty hug-and-sway between us, in the middle of the slumbering bedroom.

_God, I love you._

“Ye ken,” Jamie said nonchalantly, kissing the corner of my mouth with practiced lips, as he led us to turn on the floorboards. “It might be easier if we - _well_ , if we shared a house.” He twirled us a little more, his grip mindlessly sliding on the rugged geography of my body. “For the sake of yer wee lingerie, _of course._ I’m pretty decent with laundry, folding and such. Ye wouldna be left wanting.”

_Otis_ crooned about _yearning_ and _burning,_ and I raised my eyes to glare at Jamie’s face, surprised into a halt. “You mean, _moving in together_?”

“It’s a thought.” Jamie locked his eyes with mine and quickly bent me down by the waist to kiss me soundly, like a true swooping gentleman. “Think about it, will ye?”


	2. Wicked

##  **_Part II - Wicked_ **

“Doctor Beauchamp, I’m sorry to interrupt, but you’re needed in curtain six.” Nurse Mary Hawkins blurted haphazardly, as I reviewed lab results at the central station of the A&E department ( _my kingdom, not by birthright but by veritable competency)_ , my sore feet resting on the chair in front of me. She was a seemingly fragile creature, but made of sturdier material than her nervous ways led to believe, having a quick memory and impeccable bedside manners.

“What for?” I replied tiredly, scrawling an elevated coagulation value in red ink on my personal shift notes. “My hands are already full, Nurse Hawkins. Can’t one of the last year residents take it? I’m available to assist, of course.”

“I think you’ll want to see this patient, Claire.” She offered me a timid smile, reinforced by a tone that was far more assertive than usual, and pushed the chart in my direction.

Thoroughly intrigued, I abandoned my meticulous task and padded to the curtain area of the _Aberdeen Royal Infirmary,_ located on the opposite side of the Trauma Centre, where milder patients were assessed and swiftly treated for their ailments.

Laying on the bed, which awaited my visit, was a tall redheaded coastguard ( _his imposing frame barely fitting on the narrow and not-too-long gurney),_ sportinga dark blue _Her Majesty’s Coastguard_ t-shirt, grey sweatpants and a contrite look that approached embarrassment.

“Jamie?” I stood with my mouth slightly ajar and my brow furrowed with concern. “What are you doing here?” I glanced around, guaranteeing that no other staff was sufficiently close to hear my next few words. “I’m _definitely_ wearing knickers _today_ , so what gives?”

“Ah, Sassenach.” He presented me with a rigid and tight-lipped smile. “I had a bit of an accident, ye see?” And after his enlightening words, _I did see -_ the garish way in which his left shoulder protruded from its socket, even covered as it was by the fabric of his uniform; the strange placement of his hand against his chest, as if unable to move an inch further; the sweat coating his handsome brow, where pain dug up trenches in the fight against his resolute body.

“You have a dislocated shoulder.” I said with professional distance, biting down on my bottom lip (although completely _unnecessarily_ , since he knew it far better than I by that point). “Let’s get him a shoulder X-ray as soon as possible, so it can be reduced, and start a morphine drip. Oh, and ask Doctor Hunter to come by, since I can’t do it myself.” I asked a passing nurse, who nodded promptly and trotted away to do my biding.

“Am I about to hear the undoubtedly _fascinating tale_ of how this happened?” I eyed Jamie critically, who looked politely down like someone paying its sombre respects at a wake. “I thought that today was training day at the pool, _or something_?”

“ _Funny ye’d ask_.” He reluctantly grunted between clenched teeth, with no trace of real hilarity within sight. “Ye ken we have a record board of sorts in the force - for distance and time - and that I happen to hold most of the times, aye?” Jamie pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, making no attempt at false modesty. “So, this new lad from Manchester - he was bragging for everyone to hear that he could _beat my_ _times, the bastard_. A total banana boat. When we started training today, he _pulverized_ my record for the hundred yards.” He glanced darkly at me. “I had to show him how it’s done in Scotland for the half-mile, aye?”

“You mean _to tell me_ ,” I squinted dangerously, leaning closer to him. “That you _popped your arm out of its socket_ out of _absurd pride,_ only to out-swim a work colleague, Duck?”

“Some things are worth a little discomfort, Sassenach.” He ogled at me, as if I was suggesting something profoundly outrageous and even slightly alien. “You’ll be _thrilled_ to know I battered that wee bawbag - I still own the record, far away from the _second_ -best time.”

“Not as thrilled as _you’ll be_ once we put that bad boy back into place.” I smiled broadly ( _wickedly_ ), adjusting my loose bun from some escaping curls. “I thought you said that new chap was a “ _smooth-faced and callow wean_ ”, with an attitude that you described as - what was it? - “ _spunky but ineffective_ ”.” I pursed my lips, struggling not to laugh openly. “How do you feel about _that_ now?”

“Deeply humbled.” Jamie groaned, allowing his head to flop back into the coarse hospital-white pillow. After taking the short trip to radiology, I continued to lovingly pester Jamie about his ordeal, as much because I adored the rosy tone of his cheeks when I teased him, as to distract him from the excruciating pain, while we awaited the arrival of Denzel to fix him.

“Jamie!” A shrill voice hammered into my brain, as if someone was poking my eardrums with an insidious finger, making me grimace. “I heard ye were hurt badly, _mon cher._ ”

I rolled my eyes ( _the type of contemptuous gesture which had earned me many lectures from my mother during my adolescent years)_ , watching as Annalise de Marillac descended not only over my A&E, but _over my young man_ , like a sorrowful widow cooing and fluffing pillows. During our college years, Jamie had dated her briefly (to try and move on with his life - a fact unbeknownst to me at the time), an intense fling that came to a spectacular halt when Jamie realized she wasn’t a _one-man-woman._ The fact that she was the Pediatrics charge nurse of _my hospital_ was one of those private jokes life likes to tell - I longed for the day she would run a nursing department in _bloody Mars._

To my surprise and deep dissatisfaction, Jamie didn’t dismiss her straight away, with _polite but brief words_ \- instead, he made a point of recounting his misfortune ( _and parallel high achievement_ ) and she eagerly drank from the fountain of his words, even settling herself on the edge of his bed. I pretended to review some charts as they chirped (one of them turned upside down), throwing them surreptitious venomous looks, that no antidote of their making could counteract.

“I hear the Peds staff is really working themselves thin these days.” I eventually said, too sweetly. Jamie raised a curious brow in my direction, noticing my peculiar tone. “Shouldn’t you head back to work, Anna? I’ll let you know if we need to call the priest for last rites.” I finished sarcastically, crossing my arms in an embodiment of impatience, waiting for her to take the ( _not very elegant or subtl_ e) hint.

The blonde nurse looked thoroughly offended, but eventually marched towards her service with veiled promises of checking in on Jamie later, as I waved her _adieu_ with a yellow smile. But before I could address the matter with my _clueless rescue-diver,_ one of the A&E nurses, a newly arrived pretty and tall brunette called Samantha, approached the curtain to handle his pain medication.

“How are you feeling, Officer Fraser? Heard incredible things about your rescue missions, it seems like you are a bit of a hero around here.” Samantha grinned broadly, playfully winking at him as she hanged a saline bag. Jamie retributed the smile, but shrugged in non-committal fashion. “Can I get you anything else to make you comfortable?” I noticed the way her eyes lingered a little on his toned biceps, the fine copper hairs of his arm like a layer of fine and precious dust, whispering pleas to be caressed.

“Oh, _for fucks sake_.” I grunted under my breath, the bite of jealousy making me irascible – and irrational - beyond anything I’d ever experienced. It didn’t feel like a green-eyed monster at all, but as a creature made of complete darkness, what remained when all colours of love were gone. “Nurse Myers, can you handle traction? I think I’ll just reduce this luxation now.” I cracked my knuckles in warm-up. “As a doctor, I’m not supposed to treat family.” I said to Jamie, freakishly calm, although I could sense the harrowing way my temple was throbbing with red-hot aggravation. “But since I’m not sure that I _even like you_ much right now, _it should be fine_.”

The nurse pressed her lips together and scampered away, probably in search of Doctor Hunter before I mangled Aberdeen’s finest champion.

“What came over ye, Sassenach?” He asked slowly, his eyes scheming as if I could explode at any given moment and he was carefully trying to locate the trigger to disarm me.

“Oh _, I don’t_ _know._ Maybe I was run over by _you_ _being all syrupy and a philanderer, with those unbelievably obvious flirts_. And they call themselves professionals, _unbelievable_ , hmpf!”

“A _philanderer_ …?” For a moment I thought he would scream at me, outraged, but then he erupted in riotous laughter, that only enhanced my inner disturbance. “Ye are jealous. Of me. _I canna believe it_.”

What followed was our first fight, although I must confess to its one-sidedness. Jamie assured me he was just being civil and that any ill-intention was in the eye of the beholder; I _assured him_ that his too-available and approachable attitude was encouraging wanton behaviour from women surrounding him. Eventually, we went to his house together that night, his shoulder being the only thing in the right place.

My revenge was swift and brutal.

Jamie insisted that, although he was unfit for field work, he could still catch up on his desk duties, even wearing an arm sling for support and comfort. I allowed him to go to the _Coastguard_ headquarters, without any real protests (which should have been his first warning sign). As a soldier preparing for the last battle in a long war, I dressed carefully and deliberately – a new flirty red dress, that I had been saving to take out on a sushi-date with Jamie; a dab of fragrant oil on my smooth curls, with the faint hint of fresh lemon and summer-night sweet jasmine; some well-applied eye-shadow (with a shimmer like gunmetal), black eyeliner and mascara. Then, I went to visit my boyfriend – and his prominently _male_ colleagues – at his workplace.

When I marched into the operation centre, the first person who spotted me was Gavin Hayes and he looked _(unsurprisingly_ ) very much alarmed by my presence. I greeted Jamie’s mates left and right – addressing most of them by their name, showing deliberate interest in their well-being and current tasks-, making sure that I shook my curls just a little to spread my scent, threw a few coquettish glances over my shoulder and smiled a little too alluringly.

It didn’t take long before Jamie noticed me and the effect my presence was creating, a true wildfire about to go rampant. I pretended not to see him straight away, leaning somewhat against William’s desk to inspect a meteorological forecast (to his absolute _delight_ ), as if the man I loved was no more than an afterthought instead of my true goal.

Even standing a few meters away from me, I saw how Jamie’s eyes had darkened, how he moved his right shoulder (the left being imprisoned in the sling) as if the uniform shirt had become suddenly unbearably uncomfortable, distressingly tight. Within a couple of strides, he clasped my hand in his and wordlessly guided me to the empty changing room.

“What are ye doin’?” Jamie asked hoarsely, and his voice reminded me of the way winds tended to quiet down into a moment of perfect stillness, just before a true storm hit my open window.

“What do you mean, Duck?” I batted my eyelashes innocently, while holding his gaze in unmistakable defiance. “You know, I was only being _polite_ and - how was it, damn it? - “ _congenial_ ”.” I observed contentedly the way his body tensed, and his nostrils flared dangerously. “Or do you mean to tell me _you take offense_ with your girlfriend being _well-mannered_?”

“Ye - _Ye_ -” He clenched his teeth until I could hear the ominous grating sound; for a moment I thought my usually self-possessed ( _full of enviable_ _sangfroid_ ) and conciliatory boyfriend was going to hit the wall behind me in frustration. Ye came here wearing that make-up; ye wi’ yer _whisky eyes_ , looking like fuckin’ _Cleopatra_ , laughing and flirting wi’ my men and – and I-”

“And you _don’t like it.”_ I said mordantly, tilting my chin up to glare at him full on, feeling almost as tall as him. “Well, _neither do I_. Now you know _how it feels_ , in spite of your best intentions.”

“Do ye no trust me, Claire?” Jamie ventured in a low voice, as if by voicing it aloud he was summoning my distrust. His body was edging closer to mine, until I was almost pressed against the side of a locker.

“With my life.” I guaranteed softly, touching his cheek. The pull of him was _too strong_ , in spite of my anger.

“And with yer heart?” He brushed the spot between my breasts, touching my skin to learn the secrets that dwelled within.

“ _Always_.” I whispered, closed my eyes, and kissed his lips with the gentleness of a redeeming lover. “I trust you, Jamie. _I do_. This isn’t a matter of trust, as much as it is about _fear_.” I breathed deeply, almost choked into wordlessness, tracing the less-than-perfect curve of his nose, the hairline fracture made so many years ago. “Because I know _you feel it too_ – that _terrible fear_ that the magical happenstance that made you _love me_ can be somehow… _reversed_. That an ending to us can _actually exist_.”

“Aye, I ken yer meaning – for I am afraid too, sometimes, that ye might find someone who loves ye better than I do. But Claire, _no one_ will ever love ye _more_ or _more truly_. Don’t ye see, _mo ghraidh_? There’s no’ an ending that isna a start again for my love for ye.” He carved a path with this thumb on the side of my mouth, making me shiver. “I love ye, my devilish burd.” Jamie kissed me slowly and deeply, until I could feel his own heart coming alive inside my chest. “I love yer blasphemous mouth and yer secret smile. I love yer long legs, yer eyes and yer arse. I love yer wickedness. And above all else, I love yer heart, and the way you always seem to find me there.”

“I love you, Jamie. And _yes_ , _I want to live with you_.” I uttered simply; but I didn’t say it often enough, the force of the three words together something that almost overwhelmed me. Whenever I offered them to him, wrapped up in paper gift of a stolen touch or palms colliding, he knew I meant them with all my being. “I still think you don’t know the effect you have with that charm of yours; what it means to a woman to be under your attention, even if without malice.”

“ _A charmer,_ am I?” Jamie’s lopsided smile set me ablaze, as his hands started to roam my body more freely, over and under the red dress. I glanced at the door, worried that we might get busted making out in the male locker room of a force so sacred it bore the sign of the Queen herself (although my half-minded concerns were getting submerged under the veritable ocean of Jamie’s skilful touches).

“You’ll hurt your arm.” I pointed breathlessly, deeply immersed in the complete contradiction of grinding a little against his descending hand on my pubic bone.

“Nay.” He smiled mischievously, before he concentrated fully on his task. “I only need _two good fingers_ to see to ye.”


	3. Pros and Cons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments in every chapter so far. They truly warm my heart. X

##  **Part III – _Pros and Cons_**

Jamie and I tended to make important decisions when we were well loved. Sometimes our bodies were still pressed together, fresh from joining, and I felt his laughter inside my own belly; other times, we moved and drifted around the bed, two red young stars born from a mutual explosion, taken slightly out of balance from each other’s gravity.

It was how we decided on our first vacation together _post-romance_ ; how he promised me he would be more careful when braving the seas ( _the two_ _of us now,_ his whispered motto); and how we broached the subject of our shared residence. Although we had finally agreed on moving in together, deciding on the permanent address of the blooming _Beauchamp-Fraser_ _clan_ was not a finished deal - two strong competitors stood facing each other, _Shore Lane_ ’s number 3 and 4, the twin houses which had harboured years of glancing to each other’s window late at night ( _he is there, all is_ _well_ ), and whose windows now opened to parts of ourselves.

It wasn’t a simple or straightforward decision - beyond the obvious sense of territorial ownership, feelings of nostalgia and practical issues (the size of his closet, the mattress on my bed, the available space for a gathering of books and picture frames, where we existed both together and on our own) added considerable numbers and puzzling symbols to the equation.

“Maybe we should make a list.” Jamie suggested, massaging my right foot with his knuckles, exerting delicious pressure on strategic points of my sole. I had somehow ended up with my head towards the end of the bed, gazing at his long toes, after riding him hard (“ _ye will break me, Claire_ ”). “Ye ken, with _pros_ and _cons_ of each place. It might help us decide.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea.” I admitted, curling my toes in appreciation of his attentions one final time. “Let’s do it, Duck.”

Jamie rolled to reach his bedside drawer, where he usually kept some writing materials, amidst a sea of other handy items (water-based lube; peppermint oil; a couple of slightly crushed cereal bars to solve some middle-of-the-night-gluttony; a considerable storage of painkillers, leftovers from his several injuries in the line of duty). He retrieved a notepad and pen, that he promptly passed on to me, his handwriting being something I thoroughly enjoyed teasing him about during our college years. Using his broad naked back as impromptu writing desk, I penned in capital letters over the top of the blank sheet “ _Jamie’s House_ ”.

“Okay, so let’s start with the positives of your place.” I tapped the back of the pen rhythmically against his _latissimus dorsi_ muscle. “Shoot, Duck.”

“It was the first place we shagged in.” He pointed instantly, as if he had been carefully saving that massive trump card to play at just the appropriate moment.

“Really?!” I raised a brow and rolled my eyes, fighting against guffaw. “You want to choose a place to live based on a _sexual log book_? Jamie, we already had sex in _pretty much every division_ of both our houses.”

“Aye.” I observed his fond, slightly dreamy and wishful, smile. “But there’s history _here_. It’s the place that started it all.”

Snorting in amusement, but undeniably endeared by his hopelessly romantic notions, I scribbled under the “ _Pros_ ” column “ _First great sex_ ”, underlying it with two thick lines for good measure.

After thirty intense minutes - with a seven-and-a-half-minute recess for some zealous heavy petting (“ _you look like sex itself”,_ I moaned in his ear _)_ , capable of crumplingour glorious piece of paper _-_ , we had agreed that Jamie’s house was not only our first and preferred intercourse-den, but also had better lighting, a beautiful view of the sea, some vacant areas which we could find purpose for and decorate together, Adso’s natural habitat ( _kingdom, really)_ and better hot water pressure. On the downside, his herb garden was almost non-existent, my stove was far more powerful to bake cookies and he stubbornly claimed his attic was haunted.

I didn’t really have any primal reluctance in moving into my boyfriend’s house; long before we were romantically involved, I was already at ease and familiar with its every corner. In all truth, it had been _home_ for me since the first, when we drank cold beers sitting on the front steps, after moving to the same neighbourhood. I had known more than a handful of different houses during the first thirty years of my life - it was no great mystery to me that it was the voice that greeted you when the key turned to open the door, that made it your _rightful place._

“I - I think I’ll just move here.” I said softly, trapping Jamie’s bottom lip between my front teeth. “If that’s alright with you. I won’t sell my house, though - mum tells me she will be spending more time here in the future, so it can maybe be her place when she is in Scotland.”

***

I studied the list again ( _found tucked inside my handbag, like some stolen relic_ ), entertained, as Jamie tunelessly (but _damn,_ if not _wholeheartedly_ ) sang along with the booming radio (“ _rocket man burning out his fuse up here alone_ ”), while driving us to the largest baby-store in Aberdeen for some shopping.

Actually _, three people_ had stood at the altar during Geillis and Frank’s wedding; about a month after their honeymoon my friend announced her state of grace during quiz night, to our absolute delight. Although she was just six months into her pregnancy, Geillis had decided to throw her baby shower the next weekend - “ _while I still can eat more than a cupcake without feelin’ like a constipated cow_ ”.

When we entered the acclimated premises - a giant open-space concept, displaying every possible necessity for parents and newborns; from ready-to-assemble furniture, to clothing up until puberty, pregnancy paraphernalia and uncountable plush toys -, we halted in synch like a pair of frightened deer coming in contact with a busy highway, after braving beyond the tree line.

“Ye ken what ye want to buy, aye?” Jamie glared at me, looking positively alarmed when a pack of giggling pregnant women passed by, throwing him strangely predatory looks. I didn’t bother telling him he had admirably good genes.

“Not really.” I confessed awkwardly, scratching my forehead with the tip of my manicured fingernails. “I was counting on your enviable expertise as doting uncle to lead the way.”

“Hmmmm.” He rolled his eyes in mild annoyance, fishing for a nearby breastfeeding pump with respective kit. “What about this? I gave one tae Jenny and she deemed it verra useful.”

“Not sure that’s a good gift for a friend, unless she specifically asks for it - it’s a rather personal thing, perhaps, and terribly unglamorous for her standards.” I scrunched my nose, contemplating the explicit drawing on the box, as if the woman represented could offer me some useful advice on maternity swag.

Jamie snorted, putting back the package in its respective place. “Since it’s Geillis we are talking about, I’d be more concerned with her using the breast pump for other… _recreational purposes_.” I cackled loudly and a grey-haired buxom woman, undoubtedly with impeccable granny credentials, appeared from behind a large white wardrobe and clicked her tongue, scandalized.

“Can I help ye, guys?” A young-looking employee, wearing the shop’s wacky uniform in garish purple and bright pink, approached us with a smile of polite courtesy.

“We are still deciding, thank you.” I smirked back, patting a furry white bunny with long years, made of entirely washable fabric. “So many options, the mind boggles.”

“Very well, ma’am.” The girl adjusted a pile of slightly misaligned embroidered sheets and entwined her hands, for lack of something else useful to do. “I have to say, though, ye look fabulous! One can barely tell ye’re expecting. How far along are ye?”

Jamie laughed aloud, a howl that he quickly converted into a more suitable coughing fit, after I bombarded him with a cutthroat look. “Ah, thank you, _dear_. That’s nice to hear since I’m _not pregnant_. Just a rather generous bowl of pasta for lunch, I’m afraid.” I confessed sheepishly, watching amused as the woman apologized profusely and scampered for the farther extremity of the establishment.

“ _Don’t say a word_.” I admonished Jamie, cooly picking up a soft yellow babygrow, the size seemingly perfect to fit a particularly large rat or a very tiny human. “I’m pretty sure it will turn out wrong and my pride will demand suitable punishment for your recklessness, that will make me suffer _as much as you_. So - _no_.”

He nodded, nonplussed. “I was just about to suggest a baby monitor, so Geil can watch the baby and spy on Frank with the nanny. Dual purpose for an entirely affordable price.”

I pinched my nose, trying not to snort-laugh and disturb the child-rearing sanctuary of another biddy. “Should I also be concerned about you and some _au-pair,_ when the time comes?”

Jamie appraised a bedside cot, playfully grabbing a plastic newborn by a chubby leg (wearing a tiny blue cap, for better envisioning of the blissful scene), and sparing me an intent indigo look. “Are you _fuckin’ kidding_ me, Sassenach?” He lowered his voice somewhat, leaning over the creamy fabric to whisper into my ear. “I’m never taking my hands _off ye_ , after seeing ye round and glowing with the child I’ll put into ye. If ye think I’m lustful now, _just ye wait_.”

I eyed him critically, feeling slippery and overwhelmingly hot, not something I had planned to experience on that particular fieldtrip. I pretended to brush the polished top of a pink dresser to assess the quality of the wood; when in all truth, I was thinking if it’d be sturdy enough to support me as Jamie thrusted into me ( _an overgrown version of me_ ), in that particularly savage ( _ferocious_ ) way he mastered when I begged him to love me rough.

When I glanced up again, my heart made the riskiest acrobatics (a kind of backwards triple somersault, with no real notion of the solidness - _the_ _safety_ \- of ground underneath), landing perfectly at Jamie’s feet.

He was circumspectly examining a shelf of soothers, from classic oversized rubber formats to ultra-modern models (made of futuristic materials that could endure space traveling, while pleasantly disguised with adorable blue-bears and smiling-unicorns); against his chest, with a naturality that made me wheezy, Jamie distractedly held the newborn baby doll with one arm, tenderly cradling the plastic head with his astonishingly large palm.

“What’s the matter, Sassenach?” He scrutinized me with a brief puzzled look. “Ye look like ye’ve just seen a hackit fetch.”

It hadn’t been a fetch _per se_ \- not as much as the sudden apparition in front of my eyes of the life I longed for, like a material accomplished thing I could reach out and grasp. I padded to him and softly kissed his cheek. “Nothing at all. I just saw something I _really liked_.”


	4. Brunch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not entirely safe for work, church, drinking hot tea or reading in the same room as family members (if everything works out as intended). Much love to you all. X

##  **Part IV – _Brunch_**

Jamie had been absent for a week, called away by his only mistress ( _duty_ ), to teach a course at _Dorset’s HM Coastguard Academy._ During that time of forced longing, I was able to carefully determine what I missed the most about him.

There was the singular skill he possessed to take _the piss out of me_ , without ever being hurtful or callous – like the day he discovered an old _Care Bear_ costume ( _pink, fluffy, terribly embarrassing_ ), mistakenly placed inside one of the several card boxes I dispatched to his place, when I moved in (I chased him around the house brandishing a pillow, while he laughed sidesplittingly and called me _Claire-Bear_ ).

There was also the gentle and mindful way he battled his _single-caveman-for-so-long_ instincts, making a concerted effort to pay attention to the details that irked me or were significant to me - a preventive fold on the end of the duct tape, to keep me from going ballistic trying to blindly find it with a stressed fingernail; the soothing and low tone, akin to that of a professional psychotherapist, he used to address me before I had my first cup of coffee in a morning after a strenuous string of shifts; the music I enjoyed playing in the background when cooking together, bare-footed and complicit in the kitchen, butting our hips to the rhythm of the song; my quirky _Sheldon-Cooper-like_ trait of having a favourite (unchallenged, except for Adso) place on our now shared couch. Those small loyalties were the declarations of love he never failed to make me.

There was the soft whimper he made when I quickly pulled the covers to lie down next to him in darkness, coming home from the hospital - a slightly grumpy sound, that was always followed by a long relieved sigh, when his hands found natural purchase on my arse or flat low stomach.

But the thing _I missed the most_ about him was the way our mouths didn’t quite fit when I surprised him with a kiss amidst laughter, my lips against the scrape of his teeth, uncovered by the exposed shelter of his staggered mouth. That edge-filled happiness, in lieu of a perfectly round and composed thing ( _drool-free, painless without the clash of unprepared gums, camera-ready_ ), was my favourite way to taste him.

Of course, there were other things I yearned for in his absence. Jamie was generous with his touch, seeking me often for a brush of fingertips or a tender kiss in whatever skin he could reach. It wasn’t always something primal and carnal between us (although it _was that_ , too) - he was a master of gentleness and timing, understanding when I needed my body to be roused by a knowing hand and when I needed my spirit softly caressed. While sex had been a part of the human experience I deeply appreciated since my adolescent years, with Jamie it acquired breadth, like some cartesian two-dimensional diagram suddenly building up to a complete sphere. The knowledge attentively gardened by him throughout years of friendship had translated into an uncanny capacity to disassemble me, either with a swift movement of hips when he was already deep into me or by not moving at all and just waiting for me to meet him halfway.

Lazily laying on top of our freshly-made bed that Saturday morning, the sheets scented like orange-blossom and pine cones, I summoned the vision of his body when he came out of the shower with only a towel around his waist. Rubbing his hair to dry it off, he would chatter companionly about some work-related niggle or last-minute plan for our weekend; I would be mostly silent, humming and snorting, entirely overwhelmed by the pliable quality of his shower-heated body, by the liveliness of his blue eyes ( _renewed oceans after a strong drizzle over them_ ), by the fact that I had been regretfully blind for so long. Eventually, his words would slow down ( _they’d become molten, unhurried_ ), as if he was slowly realizing my heart was racing towards him ( _my attention a little divided_ ). He would causally drop his towel, his cock half-hardened, and would make a spectacle of dressing leisurely while he threw me sinful, inviting, glances.

My hand travelled down the hilly geography of my own body, reaching the waistband of my cotton shorts. With a sigh, it ventured beyond that unguarded border, in search of a way to tame the want he inspired in me. I moved one inquiring finger against myself, a “ _hmpf_ ” impatient sound escaping my lips ( _it wasn’t his hand, my body wasn’t easily deceived_ ). Squeezing my eyes shut, I outlined his powerful oblique muscles with the eager touch of my reverie, while I started to grind in earnest against the blooming pressure.

I rolled to lay fully on my back, grating my teeth and frowning in deep concentration, as my breathing became shallower and my ankles started to tremble a little, my feet curling and pushing against the mattress in that fight that was an avenue for surrender, for definitive armistice.

“I’d be happy just to watch for a while,” A low, _dangerous_ , voice sounded from the outskirts of the room. “But do ye need any help wi’ that, _ban-draoidh_?”

_Enchantress._ I gasped and opened my eyes, both because I was _so damn close_ and because the creature of my daydreaming had suddenly materialized by the bedroom’s door, having managed to enter the house without being detected (I was, all things considered, _otherwise engaged_ ). “ _Jamie_.” I blurted ( _almost cried-out_ ), my hand slowing down considerably, but shamefully unable to halt completely.

“I was going to say that I missed ye something fierce.” He dropped down the black traveling bag he was carrying over his shoulder (the thud of its fall perfectly harmonized with a missing beat of my own heart), slowly stepping in my direction. He was dishevelled after the long train trip, light dark smudges under his now considerably darkened topaz-blue eyes. “But I reckon ye might already know just _how much_ , aye?”

“You’re home early.” I gulped down air, noticing my slightly rolled up _Breaking Bad_ t-shirt over my exposed bellybutton, almost revealing the gracious curve of my breasts over the fields of my ribcage. “I was – well, I was _thinking of you_.”

“Being an early bird has its compensations. I wouldna want to miss _this_.” Jamie raised his brows, the corner of his mouth twitching. I watched, fascinated, as he slightly rotated his shoulders as if warming up before diving into bottomless oceans, his authoritative hands flexing once, then twice. “Do ye want me to _finish ye_ , Claire?”

My answer was a strangled laugh, turned into a small whimper when my boyfriend prowled into bed, looking keenly down at me while he balanced on his hands for leverage. Arousal echoed in me with a frequency I was adamant he could sense – hear it, even, in its loud _wailing glory_ – and I was thoroughly discombobulated by how much my body came alive under his scrutiny. I brushed his stubble with the chubby meat of my thumb, wishing my fingertips could be permanently replaced by the feel of him, the indentations of his life.

“We _can’t_ , Duck.” I argued half-heartedly, whereas my traitorous body took command and spread my legs further to accommodate the frame of his waist between my knees. “Our mothers are going to come knocking at the door at any moment. I promised I’d take them to brunch, before you got home.”

“It’s a good thing that you’re _halfway there_ , then.” He whispered close to my ear, his full lips ghosting over the skin of my mandible and the incessant throb of my carotid pulse, as his index finger enthusiastically explored the result of my previous ministrations between my parted legs. “That way we can make time _truly count.”_

I moaned, dropping my head down on the pillow in comfortable defeat, while my hips bucked frantically against the solidness of him. He laughed, deep and ruthless, sucking on my neck as I released him from his casual trousers (he used the curve of his teeth to make me broach pleasure-pain and that meant _war_ ).

Jamie looked at me appraisingly, as if he was judiciously studying the most definitive way to proceed in his dominion over my body, and his broad mouth ( _meant for great devotions, for the shrewdness of Scottish slang and to assert things that lived inside my chest_ ) quirked in a full-blown grin, before he quickly flipped me belly-down. “I meant to save this for later - when there was time to shag ye senseless, ye ken - but sometimes a man must live in the present and make do.” He combed my wild hair aside and licked the back of my neck, making me shiver and squirm viciously, as he positioned himself behind me. “Is this alright, _mo ghraidh_? Would ye rather for me to touch ye?”

“ _I want you_.” I assured him in a hiccup, blindly throwing an arm behind me to passionately pull on his hair, the cotton of his shirt tickling me between my shoulder blades. “You know all of those times you make a point of being gentle? Now shouldn’t be one of those instances, _James Fraser_.”

He chuckled and I could still feel the soft vibration of his laughter ricocheting all over my body when he entered me, swift and mindful, his grip firm on my hips as he skilfully maneuvered the fit of our joining. What followed was a litany of words that only held meaning when our bodies were combined, when “ _yes_ ” could be a denial and “ _no_ ” an affirmation, as we raced towards that scanty point that triggered a space where infinity prospered.

When I was already on the verge, an effort greatly aided by Jamie’s hand coming around my hip to assist me, the sound of the doorbell echoed loudly. I turned my head, meaning to find enough breath and _strength of character_ to suggest a premature stop to our strenuous activities, but Jamie gripped me even harder and emitted an emphatic “ _No!_ ”. Once again the doorbell sang ominously and once more Jamie huffed out a determined “ _No!_ ”. His redoubled efforts against my body, combined with the exhilarating sense of danger, made me come in a long, barely-muffled, cry.

“The risk suits ye, _Sassenach_.” He provoked me in a husky voice a moment later, nuzzling the perspired curls behind my ear, before he chastely kissed my mouth - mostly my pouty bottom lip - and began composing his clothing. “No time for a good bosie at present. Dress yerself, will ye?”

I had barely managed to disentangle myself from the wreckage of a previously well-made bed, and Jamie had already washed his face and hands, and was trotting down the stairs with the aura of a man in great spirits. I sighed and dragged myself frustratedly to put my blue shorts back on, noticing that my skin was blotched with red ( _post-orgasm_ ) blemishes and my hair had built into the awe-inspiring state of a _cumulonimbus_ cloud.

“Ah, there you are.” I heard my mum’s voice booming downstairs. “I was almost feeling a bloody arthrosis forming on my knee, from all this waiting standing outside. _Rather busy_ , were you, kids?”

“Just sleeping.” Jamie excused himself, although I was sure his mischievous smile was fooling precisely _no one_. “I was feeling a _wee wabbit_ , aye?”


	5. Family

##  **Part V – _Family_**

I hadn’t been in Jamie’s room at _Lallybroch_ in a long while, my last visit pre-dating our romantic relationship. Both with insanely demanding careers, it wasn’t always easy to find the available time and spare energy to take the drive further up north, deep into the Highlands, for a quick gathering and family lunch. Overflowing with enviable energy, Ellen made regular visits to Aberdeen in order to spend a weekend reconnecting with her only surviving son, also enjoying the occasion to catch up with my mother ( _her bestie_ ) whenever she was in town.

After Jamie’s return from Dorset, we had finally found our way to the estate to spend a long weekend walking the breathtaking countryside, eating far too much from the lavish lunch table and fuelling our hearts with the stories and laughter of our family. And so I found myself unpacking my small holiday bag (searching for a cute sweater to wear for dinner) in such a familiar place again.

The room was filled with remarkable memorabilia – photographs; diving trophies and medals ( _most for champion, of course_ ); law tomes which had survived Jamie’s thorough purge after he resigned college; vivid postcards collected in his wanderings around the world; a couple of quaint art pieces made of wood and shells, acquired in said travels. At a closer inspection, I realized a lot of Jamie’s most cherished memories involved _me_ ( _revolved around me_ ) – there I was on his nightstand, giggling and making faces next to him, immortalized in a string of cheap shots from a photo boot in London, where we went to celebrate my graduation from Medical School.

“Ye look bonny in this room.” Jamie smiled at me from the bed where he was perched, watching as I tried to decide between a blue cashmere sweater and a white woollen cardigan. “Although I dinna support this notion of you searching for _even more clothes_ to wear. Just more work for me to do later.”

I grinned and walked to the bed, slumping on it beside him. The idea of making love to Jamie for the first time between these walls left me somewhat breathless, as if we were still teenagers going against an imposed curfew to meet for a risky experiment of tongue-kissing and fingering in a quiet corner. The bed was remarkably narrow, since he had towered above most men since puberty – I imagined I would just fall asleep with my body still on top of his, after we were both sated from that terrible thirst, in which we tried to drink each other but found only salted water ( _an initial relief, followed by an even more pressing urgency, never quite mitigated_ ).

“Do you remember when we came for Jenny’s wedding, Duck?” I asked him, leaning against the curve of his shoulder. “The house was bursting at the seams with people, so I stayed with you – we slept together here.”

“ _Ye slept alright_. I didn’t even close my eyes.” He snorted with laughter in his voice, caressing my bended knee, his thumb teasing the prominence of my patella. “I spent all night wide awake, fighting a terrible cockstand from _that arse of yers_ , stubbornly chasing me all over the bed.“

“It did no such thing!” I protested, swatting his hand and narrowing my eyes at him accusingly. “My arse was on its best behaviour. I stayed on my side of the bed all night.”

He bit his bottom lip to avoid a chortle and shook his head in firm denial. “I’m sorry to say ye _wiggled it_ – not once, mind, but _several times_.” He tapped the tip of my nose with his index finger, as if I was a misbehaving purring cat. “Mine was a verra big, solid and warm body right next to ye, after all. It must have given ye some awfully vivid dreams.”

“If I dreamt of anything, it must have been of one those horror stories you always liked to tell me before we went to sleep.” I raised my brows and flared my nostrils. “If I recall it correctly, that night you insisted the _Broch Tuarach_ tower is still haunted by a wisewoman who lost her beloved husband in the _Battle of Culloden_. It took me forever to fall asleep, imagining the poor creature roaming the land, crying out for her lover.”

“Ye look radiant in the wedding photos, while I look like a proper dog’s dinner from spending the night with a fierce ache on my bawbag.” Jamie emitted a strong Scottish noise of outrage, pointing to a photo where we stood next to Jenny in her wedding dress. “I only told ye those scary tales in hopes that ye’d want to, ye ken, search for _my body’s protection_.”

“I think you’re _projecting_.” I cocked my head, rising to the challenge, and crossed my arms in silent baiting. “I’m sure ye were the one always dreaming of me on this bed and doing a lot more than _wiggling_.”

“Are ye asking if I had a chug here often thinking of ye?” He gave me the naughtiest of smirks, brushing his fingertips against his vivacious mouth in fake contemplation. “I came home for the weekend immediately after we met for the first time, at the university’s pool.” There was a softness ( _a raw_ _longing, unbridled_ _in his memories_ ) about his face, that moved me enough for me to swallow hard. “My ma’ kept asking what had happened, because I was acting like a complete _dunderheid_ those days. Couldna keep a coherent conversation, always daydreaming of those disarming eyes and that untamed mouth.” Jamie traced my cheekbone, circling the small dimple close to my lips, the tenderness in his eyes enough to set me afire. “Suffice to say this bed _heard enough about ye_ , Sassenach.”

I scooted closer to him, my mouth awaiting ( _breathless_ ) just inches away from his, our eyes trapped in an unyielding combat. “Do you think it will hear _a bit more_ at some point?”

“Aye.” His palm touched my face, as his fingers entwined in the fine hairs at my temple, before he finally kissed me hard. “But this time I’m hoping it will be filled with _the things I make ye say_.”

***

It was already fairly late, and I’d been curled up in bed with my brand new volume of _A Discovery of Witches_ waiting for Jamie to come join me, as he had been sitting by the fire with Ian after dinner. Feeling my feet unreasonably cold, and deciding I’d rather be warmed by Jamie than by an extra pair of socks, I ventured downstairs to try and lure him to turn in.

For some reason, I halted before I reached the door of the reading room, where I’d be openly visible. Maybe it was Ian’s slightly conspiratorial tone, maybe it was just that innate sixth sense of knowing when a whispered conversation involved me. I stood immersed in the shadows next to the threshold, listening intently as I tried to control my fast breathing.

“So how are things going wi’ Claire?” Ian asked with a disingenuous attempt at nonchalance. “Does living together agree wi’ the two of ye?”

“It has been braw so far.” Jamie answered curtly. I could almost see him if I closed my eyes, gently swirling the whisky in his glass, immersed in the spellbinding amber waves of the rich liquor. “Life with her is the most remarkable adventure.”

“I was surprised when I heard of it, to be honest.” His brother-in-law hawked and I heard him moving uncomfortably on the armchair’s seat, like a flea-ridden dog. “Yer relationship was still fairly new after all an’ sharing a house and a life is quite a big commitment to make, aye?”

“We’ve known each other for over ten years, so it was hardly a sudden thing.” My boyfriend answered serenely, as if he wasn’t fazed in the slightest by his friend’s remarks; but there was an undercurrent in his voice that made my skin prickle with a sense of unease. “Ye can quit yer haverin’ and go straight to the point though, _a charaid_ , before ye give yerself a nervous ulcer. What’s yer meaning?”

“I’m just concerned for ye.” Ian’s voice sounded even more muffled, forcing me to glue myself to the wall and lean my body slightly towards the entrance of the room to hear him. ”Ye’ve been in her thrall for sae long and she never seemed inclined to reciprocate until recently.” A pause that seemed to acquire a life of its own, pacing frantically around the room with them, until the man finished his train of thought. “I’m just worried that she sees it as another experience, somethin’ she came upon when she found herself lonely. That it will end badly and ye’ll be wrecked.”

I heard a loud thump, that I assumed it was Jamie’s beaker being forcibly put down on the low oak centre table. “I ken ye speak from a place of true concern for my feelings, Murray, and that is the sole reason why I’m not turning my back at ye right this second.” His tone was pure anger, not _red-rimmed and full of embers_ , but made of the dark ash remaining after a veritable combustion. My own heart was thumping madly in fury, eager to join the conversation taking place. “Ye’re implying I’m no more to her than a friend with a banger she can ride. Ye dinna ken Claire _like I do_ \- her heart doesna ken a way to lie to my own. I dinna take it kindly that ye’d put her feelings in check sae shamelessly.”

“And what happens if she finds herself out of love for ye, someday?” Ian insisted haltingly, as if his jaw was tensing in preparation for a possible blow to come. “I have no heart to see ye like ye were, back when ye left for that year.”

“If she ever decides she doesna want me anymore, I’ll count myself blessed for the time she did give me and how I used it to make her happy.” Jamie sighed and my own body went almost boneless against the coarse texture of the wall behind me. “Maybe it isna very manly that I need her so – _but I do_.” He said in a husky voice. “My heart is fit to burst with love for that woman, Ian.”

“I’m sorry if I overstepped, lad. I didna mean to disparage Claire, but I care for ye like a true brother.” I overheard Jenny’s husband apologizing, as I slid down the corridor towards the staircase. “And I’m that happy that ye feel so confident in yer future.”

***

“What are you doing, skulking around outside alone, sweetheart?” I turned my head and watched my mother, as she approached me with a curious smile perched on her wise lips. I had escaped the house before breakfast, leaving Jamie still soundly asleep in bed, eager to find a place to examine my convoluted emotions. “We missed your company inside.”

I sighed, propping my chin against my crossed hands, leaning against the paddock’s fence. “I was just contemplating the merits of time traveling. Ever fancied it?”

“A time or two.” She winked with a gleam of deviltry about her. “There was this instance when I was nineteen and decided to do this badass bowl cut.” My mum exhaled loudly, occupying a position next to mine, gazing at the galloping horses in the field. “Everybody thought I was a boy. Almost cost me my first date with your father.” Her hand squeezed mine tenderly ( _knowingly_ ). “Does this sudden appetite for time-changing have anything to do with a certain _Scotsman_ , whose name rhymes with “ _flames_ ”?”

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t’ avoid a small smile. “It might have. I guess I’m paying the price for being a damn twerp for so long. That _idiocy_ will follow me around for a long time.”

“I have to say, things seem pretty spectacular between you two.” She said gently, fluffing the curls next to my cheek. “Has he said anything hurtful to you?” Her lips pressed into a fine, _very motherly-like_ , line. “Because he is certainly not too old for me to ask Ellen to skelp his bottom.”

“He hasn’t.” I shook my head vehemently, alarmed at her reference of bodily punishment. “But I can’t help but be bothered by what other people think about how we came to be. About _what he means to me_.”

“Well, you know what they say about people and their opinions.” My mother clicked her tongue, waving a hand in clear dismissal. “Actually, there’s _a bunch of sayings_ on the subject, although I rather like the ones involving bodily cavities.” Her eyes ( _suddenly I realized how uncannily like my own they were_ ) fixed me, support and challenge looming within. “I think the _real question_ here is - is there anything else you can do to show _Jamie_ how much he means to you?”

“Yes.” I answered in a whisper. “ _I think there is_.”


	6. Skinny-dipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was the first thing that took shape in my mind for Arc II. It was greatly (and shamelessly) inspired by my time in Austria early this summer. I so hope you enjoy this Jamie POV. Thank you for your more than generous comments.❤

##  **_Part VI – Skinny-dipping_ **

**_Jamie_ **

When my life would come to an end, what would be in that kaleidoscopic film playing incessantly on my mind, that summary meant to show the substance of my existence?

_Her face glaring at me curiously when I came out of that pool. The way we raced through the airport terminal, because I was late from all those carefully avoided farewells, her tears suspended on the air. That small eternity when I thought I was going to die from a hammering heart and instead I kissed her. The delicate and moving feel of her skin against mine when I circled her, knowing it to be her way to surrender. How she kneeled in front of me for the first time and I thought I’d lose myself like an inexperienced wean, just from the knowledge of her desire upon me. Her naked morning-star shoulder blades, beautifully-made, as she entered that lake ahead of me._

_But also, the day I realized those things might never come to pass._

I had been sleeping fitfully. It’s hard to find good rest when someone else shares the inside of yer head, carelessly banging doors and peeking inside your carefully closed drawers. Claire had taken residence there for over six months and that neighbouring relationship was getting increasingly more difficult to play with any degree of coolness – I had been cooking up a confession, mainly because I feared I’d go absolutely whacky from unspoken love.

“I’ll just go there _right now_.” I exhaled, studying my own bewildered reflection on the mirror of my room close to the university, feeling more than a little chunderous. On the background, _The Temptations_ crooned about _“What can make me feel this way? My girl (my girl, my girl)”._ “And _tell her_. Straight out wi’ it. Nothing more, Fraser. Huh, right now.”

I mussed up my damp hair in nervousness, picking up and putting down objects before I could realize what I intended to do with them. I grabbed my backpack (completely forgetting to place my training kit inside) and headed outside, with a confidence that was entirely faked. I was already five-hundred yards away from the dorm, when I realized I was donning unmatched socks, one emerald green and the other coloured like terracotta.

“ _Shite_.” I grunted between teeth, before running back to change. Most of that small itinerary was spent babbling to myself _(“Blimey, what am I even going to tell her?” I scratched my uneven stubble in impatience. “Hey lass, are ye into time travelling? Because I see ye in my future.” A mortified moan escaped my lips. “Why would I let myself out of the house? I’m hopeless_.)”

After an hour in which I abandoned and returned to my small flat more than half a dozen times, I had finally made my way to Claire’s apartment building, where she and Geillis dwelled. “ _Hey Claire_.” I trained in a casual low voice, trying to sound mature and interesting (and like I fuckin’ _had it together_ ). “I think ye should know that I – I-“

Laughter that I knew all too well ( _my bones were meant to rattle to its song)_ echoed from the nearby bookshop, a pleasant establishment filled with interesting books and a small coffee corner, where Claire and I had enjoyed an expresso and a slice of carrot cake on more than one occasion. I approached the door, half-expecting an infarction to take me swiftly and spare me from my utter prattling misery, when I heard my name spoken aloud.

“I should text Jamie.” Claire was saying and I had a glimpse of Geillis’ flaming hair across from her. “See if he wants to hang with us today.”

“Ye two are like hand and glove, hen.” Geillis sipped placidly from her macchiato. “Ye hold the chap so close to yer bosom it’s almost weird ye two arena bonking.” Her green eyes jumped from her fresh banana muffin to Claire’s surprised face. “Ye arena, right? Because I wouldna belittle ye – I mean, _I’ve seen him in his speedos_ and _holly hell_ \- ”

“Of course not!” My stunning friend denied vehemently, her butterscotch eyes widening. “Jamie is my _best mate_ – he actually sees me as _a person_ and not some broad he simply wants to roger. It’s really amazing to have that kind of solid friendship, without any kind of ulterior motive.” Her voice sounded animated and at ease, although my heart seemed to be finding a natural place to crack between its chambers. “Besides, he is just not my type.”

_Not my type. Not-my-type. Ifrinn!_

“Haud yer wheesht!” The redheaded woman giggled, shaking her head passionately. “He is _everyone’s type_. Weil, everyone with two functioning eyes and who isna a huddy, I mean. Where is this nunnery ye spend yer spare time in, lassie?”

 _“He is just not_.” Claire rolled her eyes in exasperation and playfully stick out her tongue. “Jamie is _good_ and honourable to a fault, but his friendship is what I treasure. We _both know what we’re about_.”

It turns out, for a lot of time after that, _neither of us knew what we were about_.

I turned around without entering that café and industriously avoided Claire for three days, that I spent mostly in bed sulking, wandering if there was a pencil or pen I could use to correct myself ( _sketch a new line, erase some undefinable wrongness_ ) and make myself more to her liking. Eventually, I accepted that I loved her enough to pretend that I didn’t – an effort I was able to courageously ( _cowardly_ ) maintain for a while, until her infatuation with Frank made me flee. Claire dated several men she had no real intention of being serious about ( _I could sense it in the absence of light in her eyes responding to their calls, the way she leaned away from their overattached touches_ ), searching for a moment of realization she would come upon many years down the road, driving furiously through a storm.

We were somehow entangled inside our bubble-filled bathtub ( _a_ _Lush’s endless supply of products, how I maintained my title of best-boyfriend-ever_ ), performing a piece of awe-inspiring contortionism only passion made us flexible enough for, when I finally confessed to her the lowly crime of semi-spying on her all those years gone.

“Did I really say _that_?” Claire asked in dismay, her drenched curls glued to her face in an endearing way. “ _Not my type_? Bloody, bloody hell!”

“Well, to be fair ye didna know I was listening and ye were being honest in that moment.” I smirked, blowing foam down my chest. “Ye really were more into the _eejit-type_ back then.”

“It’s a good thing that my taste got better with age.” Her foot teasingly slid down my forearm, as we faced each other in the bath, her big toe slowly apologizing to the lines on my skin for ancient misused words. “I’m so thankful you didn’t give up on me completely, Duck, my own poor judgement notwithstanding.”

I laughed and massaged the sole of her foot, pressing with my thumb on a point that made her toes curl and a soft moan sneakily escape her lips ( _heading directly to my groin_ ).

“This year’s _European Conference of Emergency Medicine_ is happening in Austria next month.” Claire mentioned casually, vigorously scrubbing her neck with a cream-coloured loofah and then applying the same treatment to my calf, folded awkwardly next to her. 

“Aye, I remember.” I sighed, already anticipating the _lonely nights_ ahead, when she’d be abroad. “Ye told me about it ages ago. I didna forget, Sassenach, even if were trying to distract me with that profane mouth of yers at the time.”

“You should come, since you have about a hundred vacation days saved up.” Those disconcerting huntress eyes coyly glanced at me. “We could make a small holiday out of it. Maybe go to the _Salzkammergut_ region for a few days ahead of the Vienna conference.”

“I canna just take time off from work, Claire.” I protested, although it was _so very hard_ for me to deny her anything when she was _absolutely naked_ , half-laying just inches away. “We’re a little short-staffed as it is these days and storm season is almost upon the N _orth Sea.”_

“Just check it, alright?” She pleaded, diving down to rinse her hair from shampoo, her heel seemingly brushing my testicles by accident ( _I knew better than to think it a fortuitous coincidence_ ).

For the next couple of days, Claire seemed to be a woman with a sole mission to accomplish – she hounded me with breathtaking pictures of the _Hallstatt_ region as we sat down to watch _Mindhunter_ at night _,_ asked about my vacation days’ approval even before I kissed her in greeting and babbled incessantly about “ _spontaneity_ ” and “ _the time of our lives_ ” ( _accompanied by a hilarious Dirty Dancing routine impression, that took me back to a certain dance club_ ). Underlying all of this, Claire exhibited a mysterious nervous energy that left me slightly on edge and at times I realized she was strangely spaced out; I couldn’t help but wonder if she was keeping some kind of secret, one that tried to whisper to her frequently over my own words.

Unsurprisingly, in due time I found myself driving a rented car in Austria, bringing us ever closer to the lovely lakeside hotel Claire had booked for our stay. Surrounding us was the breath of the mountains frozen into majestic peaks covered in greenery, seeming to endlessly multiply on the reflection of the crystal-clear lake, blue only when the water had no other option than to reflect the sky. I joked about the “ _no kangaroos in Austria_ ” signs we had spotted on the service station ( _where a delicious apfelstrudel_ and a zingy lemonade _had invigorated us_ ), but Claire gave me only half-hearted replies and kept chewing apprehensively on the inside of her cheek.

I adjusted my aviator sunglasses and considered stopping the car on the roadside and forcing her to tell me what was so inexplicably wrong, when she asked me to pull over into a sheltered bay. While the banks of the lake had been populated with kayakers and swimmers along the way, that place was blissfully deserted and quiet, enhancing the ethereal quality of the landscape.

Expecting Claire to finally confess what was troubling her ( _or to yell, fight or laugh it off_ ), my jaw dropped when she simply stripped out her white linen dress as soon as she got out of the car.

“Care for a swim, Duck?” She teasingly looked at me over her shoulder, beginning to untie the bow on her navy bikini top. The weather was mild, in spite of the coming dusk, and the area was fairly secluded, even if close enough to the road to still pose a considerable peril at being caught skinny-dipping by passers-by. “The _old Highlander’s way_?”

“ _Thank Christ_ , Sassenach.” I cocked a brow and presented her with a lopsided smile, swallowing hard when she dropped the clothing item. “Ye have been acting so strange, I was beginning to fear ye were planning on murdering me and throwing my cadaver into one bonny Austrian lake.”

“I wouldn’t ruin my vacation by committing a murder. I’ll save that for when we’re bored back home.” She let her hair down, releasing her curls from the bun she had been previously wearing – the rich brown of her locks deeply contrasted with the whiteness of her breasts, gleaming naked, as she stood only in her knickers. “You’re overly dressed for a proper skinny-dipping session, hm?” Claire’s eyes lowered to the level of my hips. “I know the plan was to christen Scotland’s seas, but the water here is much nicer.”

With a swift movement and a wiggle of her arse that made _my mouth water_ , Claire dispensed her bikini bottoms and walked to the lake’s margin, tilting her head to catch the balmy breeze. As she experimented the water’s temperature with the tip of her foot, her velvet skin coming alive with goosebumps, I undressed to follow her.

When I reached her, Claire stood with water almost covering her breastbone, the curve of her breasts like the very silhouette of the mountains surrounding us. Her hands moved slowly underwater, drawing unfathomable shapes, and the set of her mouth was tense but resolute.

“ _Ban-draoidh_.” My hands framed her waist bellow the water, where she was sleek and strangely warm inside that liquid world. “Ye look like a proper witch, doing yer wee naughty rituals to lure me to drown here.”

“ _I love you_.” Claire uttered softly, her palms touching my chest, so that her fingers formed wings that rested at the bottom of my throat, her fingernails like the touch of birds’ little feet. “And I wanted it to be just right.”

“What?” I questioned, frowning in puzzlement. The sky was made of a perfect layering of celestial blue, burnt orange and hazy pink; we seemed to be bathed in grey light, as if the moon was coming awake from the lake itself, peeking underneath our bodies. 

“You weren’t the first man I loved.” She said softly, kissing the hollow space above my left clavicle with trembling lips. “But do you believe me when I tell you _you’ll be the last_?” Claire tilted her head so our eyes could meet fully, her cheek pressed against the cadence of my heart ( _happy to have her in such closeness, untiring from that connection_ ). 

“Aye.” I answered in a hoarse voice, an intricate knot forming inside my throat when faced with her vulnerability, with her _absolute devotion_. “ _I do_.”

“ _Good_.” Claire nodded gravely, although a smile awaited in the delicate corners of her irreverent mouth. “Then _marry me_ , James Fraser.”

I gawked at her, _the only woman who had ever owned my heart_ , silence extending between us. She looked incomprehensibly nervous ( _expectant, standing on her tiptoes in foreign waters_ ) and I realized she actually thought “ _no_ ” was a real hypothesis.

“Ye’re _my whole life_ , Claire.” I pulled her towards me, until her legs were around my waist and she started to breathe faster, emotion making my voice rough. “When I hold ye in my arms, I hold my whole life. _Aye, I’ll marry ye_ , _my soul’s song_.”


	7. Tokens

##  **Part VII – Tokens**

At dawn, with a delicious ache between my legs that seemed to be the only real thing to exist, I opened my eyes to Jamie’s beautifully made back. His hand, _big and possessive_ , was splayed on my hip as his powerful arm stretched back; by his breathing, I knew he was awake too.

“It’s real, then?” I demanded, my voice croaky and mellow, mostly from cries that only the pillow underneath me would ever confess. “I really _asked_ – and you _said yes_?”

Jamie rolled to face me, his thigh edging between my knees in unspoken familiarity. “Ye were _stark naked_.” He pointed practically. His own voice was unhinged, like a deep cave echoing a million whispers of yearning and abandon. “I didna see that I had much choice, aye?”

I slapped him half-heartedly, a movement that turned into an almost brusque caress on his _pectoralis_ , as if there was no other true way to touch him if not in desire. “Glad I made such a _compelling case_ , Duck. I can get into a fugly jumper and sweatpants, if you want to reconsider without further distractions.”

“Nah.” He smirked lazily and bent his head to apply a well-measured kiss on my left breast, with just enough persistence to make me gasp aloud. “I already ken _what’s underneath_ , so not a real chance of not being distracted.” The palm of his hand touched my cheek and he gazed at me tenderly. “I’ll say _“yes”_ everyday until ye meet me at the altar, _mo nighean donn_.”

“ _Good_.” I hawked, inefficiently trying to dissipate the renewed wave of emotion breaking on the rocks of my chest, where Jamie always walked on the shores of my thoughts and swam in the waves of my daydreams. “We were _rather busy_ yesterday,“ A foolish blush was seizing my fair skin, a belated reverberation of the insatiable movements of our bodies the previous night, eager to pledge themselves definitively to one another. “But I have something to give you. While it didn’t seem appropriate to give an engagement ring to a man, I still wanted you to have something – _a token_ , to symbolize our commitment.”

As Jamie watched me, with awe and surprise in his fathomless blue eyes, I jumped from the bed and dashed to my handbag, discarded on the floor close to the open balcony doors of our quaint hotel room. Bellow, the _Hallstatt Lake_ dawned like liquid mercury, silver with faint tinges of heated orange, and the breeze was akin to a snuggling cat, lazy and charming.

When I returned to Jamie’s side, an elegant box coated in black leather and shaped like a cube was nestled in my hands. I sat with my legs folded in front of my boyfriend, covered only by the whiteness of a sheet, and placed it silently on his lap.

His eyes jumped quickly between me and the mysterious item; before too long his hands were opening it, the moment gloriously punctuated by the soundtrack of the furious beating of my own heart, pulsing madly on my ears. Jamie touched the wristwatch inside it with a reverent finger, as if he was tracing our entwined initials in the morning’s mist on a windowpane.

“I did a bit of research – well, more than _a bit_ , actually – and apparently this particular model can withstand a remarkable depth while diving.” I bit down on my lip, nervous enough to feel like I was a bit of a babbling mess. “So that you always know when it’s _time to come back to me_ , Jamie.”

“ _Thank ye_.” He said in a husky voice, carefully examining the dial that also sported a tiny chronometer and a compass inside the structure formed by the clock hands. Gently, I enfolded his hands with mine and directed him to turn it around, so he could discover the hidden engraving on the back.

_Come and meet me in forever._

_C._

***

I would always remember our days at the lake as some of the happiest in my life. We took long walks around the margins at the coolest hours of the day, paddled side by side with our knees playfully bumping together ( _and more than once, sneakily pushing each other into the water_ ) and made love at all hours, as if time was nothing but a reluctant witness of our contentment.

Eventually, we found ourselves in Vienna for the final leg of our journey ( _and initial excuse for our trip_ ), the _European Conference of Emergency Medicine._ Luckily we had been able to secure a bedroom in the same hotel as the Conference venue, so when the lectures were too mind-numbing to endure, I was able to deviously escape for a short while to join Jamie in our room and engross in much more _pleasant activities_ ( _from which I returned either slightly rumpled or with scandalous wet hair from a quick shower_ ).

The closing cocktail was a chance for hoity-toity doctors to _let their hair down_ , enjoy alcohol aplenty and some mildly satisfactory canapés over chinwag and a bit of a _scalpel-measuring-contest_.

I watched the room, swaying contentedly to the beat of the groovy song playing, waiting for Jamie to return with a refill of our drinks. The skirt of my black, silver and white dress had a bit of a _vintage 50s_ vibe to it. Finished with a halter cut that fully exposed my arms and part of my sun-kissed back, it moved and balanced like a fabric-made bell.

“Claire Beauchamp!” A female voice greeted me excitedly, and I tilted my head to discover Geneva Dunsany, the head of the A&E of a hospital in the _Lake District_. We had become acquainted ( _and indeed amicable_ ) when we were still medical students, during a three-month exchange program in Denmark, and met regularly at such events. “As I live and breathe!”

“Geneva!” I hugged her with one arm and planted a soft kiss on her cheek. “It’s so good to meet you again! How are you?”

“Better now that I’ve found a familiar face.” The attractive brunette rolled her eyes, brushing away a strand of her wavy chestnut hair. “It gets quite tiresome to bat away unwanted attentions from men who could play bridge with my father.”

I laughed and we chatted briefly about the novelties of our careers and our general impression of the conference, before I felt Jamie’s presence ( _his scent, unmistakable_ ) close to my shoulder.

“Ah, there you are!” His hand searched mine as I spoke and squeezed my fingers vehemently, _desperately_. “Let me introduce you to –“

“ _Gen_.” He finished softly, and I turned to peek at his face, confused. He was paler than usual, and the smile playing on his lips was tense and superficial, as if an amateur puppeteer was manoeuvring his expressions. “Aye, _we ken each other_ , Sassenach. I – I met Geneva during my travels in Asia.”

The spark of a distant memory, like a lick of a careless ice tongue down my spine. _Our bodies languidly embracing at the beach, his deep voice saying “She was a backpacker too and we had travelled together since Laos. Eventually – well, it happened”._

“ _Oh_.” I uttered faintly ( _stupidly_ ), letting go of his palm as if it had burned me ( _seared through me_ ). Jamie threw me a dark gaze and plunged his hands inside the pockets of his smart black dress pants.

Geneva was glaring at us with venom swirling in the depths of her grey eyes, the knuckles of the hand coquettishly holding her champagne glass turned completely white. “ _Claire_.” Her mouth twitched grotesquely. “ _Of course_.”

***

I stormed inside the hotel room, puffing and clenching my teeth, almost hitting Jamie with the door behind me in the process.

“Are we goin’ to talk about it?” My lover baited me in a cautious voice, undressing his blazer as he witnessed ( _as an experienced diver_ ) the raging storm brewing inside me.

“What’s there _to talk about_?” I grunted, taking my earrings off with clumsy and brutal fingers. “You have a past and _that’s fine_ – I don’t really have the right, _do I_?”

“ _Still._ Are you angry?” Jamie questioned deliberately, accessing me as if I was a drowning creature with water almost reaching my open lips, and he only had one fair opportunity of saving me. “Will I have to pull ye from the hotel bar, where I’ll find ye flirting with some stranger to prove a point?”

I almost smiled, recalling my last serious bout of jealousy and subsequent punishment. _Almost_.

“ _No_.” I hissed back, throwing my ballerina shoes against the fluffy carpet in the corner of the spacious room. “This isn’t _bloody rational,_ okay? I just can’t handle imagining you _fucking her_ in Thailand, just like _you fucked me_ in the lake a few days back and –“

He grabbed my arm and pulled me to him, firmly locking me inside the space that belonged to his body. “ _Dinna say that_.” He hissed back, the corners of his blue eyes wrinkling in fury. “I never touched _anyone_ like I _touched ye then_ , Claire. Like _I will touch ye_ , as soon as ye settle enough for me to have ye.” Jamie licked his lips, his breath sweet and inebriating from his last glass of champagne. “Ye swore to me that while I wasna the first man ye loved, I’d be the last. I ask ye the same, now – will ye believe me when I tell ye that _I’ve never loved anyone, but ye_?”

“Yes.” I breathed out, my crossness suddenly collapsing like a deflated balloon, leaving me _strangely sore, uncomfortably tender._ Jamie’s new watch glistened on his wrist in the half-light, a soothing balm over my barely scabbed-over scratch. “That _floozy_ , ogling you like she wanted to smite me and have her way with you on top of the hors d’oeuvres.”

“ _Och, aye. Shameless, really.”_ Jamie gave me the sexiest lopsided smile and I understood the underlying provocation, the call to a war where only my army could meet him in battle. “And what do ye plan to do about it?”

Before I could conjure a sensual comeback, or even an irritated one, I was already fumbling with his belt and pushing down his slick boxer briefs, as my mouth ravished his relentlessly ( _mine, mine, mine_ ).

“ _Sit down_.” I panted, bending down to slide my black lace panties away from my body, a task made significantly more complicated by the skirt of my dress serving as barrier. Jamie obeyed, his body magnificently displayed on the edge of the bed, as he leaned back invitingly. I gathered my skirt in the curve of my arm and after I stroked him diligently a couple of times, I crawled into his lap and took him inside me.

Grabbing a fistful of his shirt for support, an effort greatly aided by the movement of his hands on my waist, I rode him thunderously; it wasn’t exactly _love_ , or _passion_ , or _lust_ – it was _surrender and possession_ , pure and simple; a stint to destroy all echoes of a past that I didn’t share, to exorcise the demons of our time apart.

I _scratched_ and _bit_ and _cursed_ , as if all my body was made of claws and teeth seeking his flesh; and when his thumb found me to aid my pleasure, I growled a “This is for me to watch _you_.”

***

Scotland. _Home._

“Will ye wait here, just for a moment?” Jamie asked, brushing stray curls away from my face as if his hand had been moulded to carve me into a meaningful shape.

Although my feet felt like two roasted hams from the time spent between airports and planes; and I very much craved the unspeakable bliss of a shower I knew exactly how to obtain the perfect temperature from ( _not prone to the symphony of hisses and curses, while one executed a kind of frenetic tribal dance that meant “too cold” or “too hot”_ ), the exquisite sunset and the mysterious glint in his eyes – something that dwelled in the frontier of tenderness and mischief – convinced me to nod and wait patiently.

I padded to the patch of land that extended beyond the back of Jamie’s house – _our house, I would call it at some point, without remembering it had existed a time when our bed wasn’t a task for both our hands to complete_ – and snuggled on my woollen white sweater, both chilled and invigorated by the penetrating breeze that spoke of waves and things returned to the shore. Lulled by the rhythmic sound of the sea breaking only to be whole again on the horizon, I bent down to smell a couple of late-blooming pink roses, rimmed with a dark rich yellow.

Eventually Jamie’s hand caught mine in the process of tracing a leaf and I looked up to him, _slightly rumpled and honest and beautiful enough to make me ache_. The intensity of his midnight-lake eyes was like a piercing dagger bereft of a protecting scabbard, as his spare fist slowly opened to reveal a blue-velvet box.

“What’s this?” I blurted, my eyes widening almost painfully. He gave me a half-smile and tilted his head, silently inciting me to open it for closer inspection.

Inside the box (that I almost felt like a beating heart from the rapidness of my own pulse), resting like a creature waiting to be animated by my hands, was a silver engagement ring. At its heart, cut in a delicate oval shape, was a dark yellow sapphire that reminded me of a black panther’s eye just before falling asleep. It was _fierce_ and _unusual_ and _understated_ – everything that I was, intricately fashioned into gemstone and precious metal, as if some pliers had cut into my heart to transform it and place it on display.

“I bought it just after we came back from Malta.” Jamie explained, looking more than a tad embarrassed. “I didna even plan on it – I just saw the wee ring on display and knew it was meant to be yers, no matter how long it had to wait to meet ye.” He hawked in self-consciousness, but the intensity of his gaze almost dissolved me. “I didna want to rush our togetherness, Claire – but now, perhaps it’s time ye’d wear it?”

“Does this mean I still get to see you _down on one knee in front of me_ , in spite of me being the one to propose, Duck?” I said nervously, my hands shaking as I slowly ( _tentatively, in case it disappeared_ ) caressed the edge of the box.

“Is that a veiled complaint that I don’t _get down on my knee_ s enough for you?” Jamie raised his brows significantly, his eyes going from summer lakes at dawn to winter storms, dark and hungry for wreckage, within a heartbeat. Before I could find a suitable answer ( _naughty, carefree, able to disguise how vulnerable I felt within his love_ ), my boyfriend - _my fiancé_ \- slowly slid to the ground, his face so close to my body his lips brushed promisingly against my pubic bone as he kneeled.

As he held the ring for me to accept it, the final rays of sunshine danced in farewell on his watch’s dial, the one I had put on his wrist with my palms still sweaty from our lovemaking. _Come and meet me in forever._

“How did you guess the exact size of my finger?” I inquired with a husky voice, trying to hold on to _any semblance of coolness_ for dear life, as his fingers skillfully worked the ring into my hand. _A perfect fit._

“Do ye recall when I used to make ye good-luck charms for yer exams?” He massaged my knuckles, smiling tenderly at the vision of the sapphire against my sun-touched skin. “The wee string with the celtic knots?”

“Yes.” I said a little breathlessly.

Back when I was adamant that I’d fail my Embryology class ( _having a thorough meltdown outside the department at 7a.m., with dark-circles under my eyes that almost reached my knees and enough caffeine in my bloodstream to rival the yearly production of Guatemala_ ), Jamie had calmly squeezed my shoulder and offered to make me a well-wish. “ _Dinna mock traditions ye dinna understand_ ,” he had advised me casually, as he fished an old shoelace from his training bag. With practiced ease, as if doing incantations for good grades had been the real reason for him to attend university all along, he tied it around my finger finishing it off with a series of complicated knots. “ _Ye’re all set, Sassenach.”._ Somehow, I had managed to compel out of the puzzling multiple-choice questions the best mark of the entire year, in spite of never even finishing the recommended readings. After that I rarely went into an exam room without one of Jamie’s tokens.

“Well,” He laughed. “I did so many of those for ye that I became quite familiar with the shape of yer wee ring finger. I knew its size by heart.”

“And you never forgot?” I asked in a low voice.

“Yer name has always meant _forever_ to me, Claire.” He said simply and my lips fully surrendered to his.


	8. Flannel & Lace

##  **Part VIII – _Flannel & Lace_**

There is something about wedding planning that turns reasonable and considerate people into wankers, with a tendency for cannibalization of their own kin.

We didn’t want to wait too long, so Jamie and I were perfectly content with the idea of a winter wedding. The first seven days of our engagement were blissful, wrapped as we were in the shockproof cover of a foreign country, rather like an undisturbed couple embracing inside a snow globe.

However, after our return to the reality of our common days, real life insisted on being meddlesome.

It started with Jamie being promoted at work. When he shared the news upon arriving home, a grin so large on his face that I’d come to associate mostly with wickedness between sheets, I’d arboured hope that it meant more desk duties and less time soaking in waters hell-bent on killing him.

I peppered him with kisses ( _“I’ll allow for some well-deserved gloating now, Duck_ ”), proud as if I had trained him myself ( _industriously_ ) to become a legendary rescuer. Soon enough I’d realize it meant _exactly the same_ physical hazards that kept me awake at night in his absence, but longer hours doing bureaucratic work and being even more involved in recruit training.

That meant that a task devised for two committed partners quickly became a source of lonesome frustration for me.

We had just managed to select and book a venue for the wedding, before things went completely mental. It was a small estate embedded within an old forest leading to Aberdeen’s majestic shoreline, which combined enough elements of our history and joint alchemy to feel like _us._

Even with that major decision laid to rest, there was still an infinite list of tasks to be perused and accomplished, that I tried to handle ( _somewhat ungracefully_ ) as best as I could, although it made me feel like I was carrying the weight of a massive block to build a revered pyramid all on my own.

That particular week, we had vouched to take some serious “ _us_ ” time, dealing with wedding cake tasting, honeymoon debating and flower ogling ( _and subsequent sneezing and eye-watering_ ). When I woke up with a feeling of crushing dread one morning, only to receive a call from Jamie telling me he had been chosen to do some interforce cooperation in the _Bering_ sea for a couple of weeks ( _his voice sorrowful, but not entirely capable of hiding a distinct sense of awe and excitement_ ), I darkly contemplated the yellow sapphire of my engagement ring for a few minutes and dragged myself to a long shower.

The manager of the venue (a stout woman with a vigorous taste for expensive perfume) animatedly discussed the merits of lemon frosting versus chocolate ganache, but I couldn’t concentrate enough to coax my tasting buds into surrender. As I blindly glanced through the window, revealing leaden skies and biblical rain - some part of me wondering if Jamie had touched down in Alaska -, I distractedly speared and nibbled on a piece of the cake closer to my elbow.

The oily, rich and slightly smoky taste of nuts filled my mouth instantly.

Like any good doctor worth its salt, I was blatantly careless with my own health. My previous _Epipen_ had survived its expiration date unused and I had planned to acquire a new one, _post-haste,_ six months before (and then, of course, proceeded to procrastinate like a true champion). The result was that I was starting to itch everywhere and to wheeze like an overheating boiler, without having any medication for my allergy at hand.

“Damn it, where is your _thingy_ , Claire Elizabeth?!” My mother demanded, desperate, scavenging my handbag, while my face turned into the remarkable breed of a lobster and an inflating balloon.

In lieu of spending hours stressing over tuxedo torte and caramel apple cake, I found myself admitted at my own A&E, with my least favourite nurse peeking over me with a smug grin on her face. After my hives were somewhat under control, I made a call to Jamie on _Whatsapp_ ; between shallow breaths, I had forbidden my mum to reach him straight away, as I was transported to the hospital.

“Hello there, Duck. ” I greeted him curtly, scratching my cheek. He appeared on my screen, wearing a blue wool cap with the _HM Coastguard_ symbol, so buried in his head it almost covered his ears.

“Sassenach.” He smiled, his cheeks rosy with what I assumed was unbelievable cold. “What are you up to? Are ye at work?” He squinted to try and discern my surroundings on the little phone screen.

“You could say that.” I said, pressing my lips together. “I had a little mishap during cake tasting today.”

His brow furrowed noticeably, even through the slightly delayed and slowed down motion of the app. “What kind of _mishap_? I didna remember that was today.”

Instead of answering, I turned my phone so he could see a portion of my arms and belly, still generously covered in red, angry, papules.

“It seems that a few walnuts were sneakily hiding beneath some innocent whipped cream.” I shrugged and brushed away a stray curl dangling on my forehead. “I wasn’t being very _bridezill_ a, so I don’t think it was an assassination attempt from the venue.”

“Christ.” I could hear him exclaim in his deep Scottish tone, although the image had become completely frozen on my screen. “Ye need to watch yerself, _mo ghraidh_. Maybe ye should -”

But I never discovered what I _should be doing_ ( _in his absence, that sucking void_ ), because the connection failed completely and I couldn’t reach him again that day.

The next time Jamie managed to call me, I was already recovered and working, a terrible shift of too many cars skidding on icy roads. I didn’t have time to tell him how his absence during such a sensitive time sent me spiraling; and even if time had been aplenty, I might have kept it to myself. I had never been possessive or dependent; never one to run from making a tough decision on my own. I couldn’t phrase why I needed him so in that instance, as if I had been deprived of functioning arms and legs, when I knew he was doing what had to be done.

Jamie came back from Alaska brimming with plans and fevered energy, that he deployed promptly to his work. Sometimes he would crawl next to me late at night - my chest covered with flower catalogues or guest lists, as they came to rest when I fell asleep amidst task -, snuggling against my body in an intentional way that made me find true rest. Other times, I talked about the hardships of finding a wedding dress as we laid together on the couch, only to discover him soundly asleep with his head on my lap, his hand firmly gripping my waist.

And that’s how we navigated things until only two weeks were left from _the date._

“Where should we sit aunt Cornelia, Duck?” I asked tiredly, adjusting my eyeglasses on the tip of my nose, squinting while I examined the seat map for our wedding reception. “Not with great-aunt Amelia, because they had a serious row about a borrowed brooch. And also _nowhere near_ Barbara, because uncle Elton apparently was sweet on her when they were young.” I sighed, massaging the top of my scalp, where a headache was starting to bother me. I was wearing one of Jamie’s old flannel tartan shirts, comfortably warm and baggy.

We both had the whole weekend off from work; something that had become a rare occurrence and I had enlisted Jamie ( _assertively_ ) to complete some overdue planning. Upstairs, safely locked in the room we used as office, my wedding dress awaited on a hanger, and its ivory lace seemed to glisten even in my dreams.

“Ye could sit her with Laura, they are besties, arena they?” Jamie placidly chewed on a cereal bar.

I glared at him. “Laura isn’t coming. She is having hip replacement surgery - _I’ve told you that_ , I’m sure of it.”

He shrugged, vaguely apologetic, his eyes turning to the rugby game on the flat screen. “Then place her wherever there’s a chair available, Sassenach. I dinna see why this is such a big deal.”

It was as if a fist that someone had been gripping tightly inside of me had finally been released; the force of it almost made me nauseous, and my skin prickled with relentless waves of burning fury.

I threw the seat map at his head, missing by a mere inch. I felt like ripping his shirt _off my body_.

“Fine!” I hissed, all my body pouncing in his direction. “You can sit the bloody hag on _your lap_ , for all I care! Apparently _none of it_ is a _big deal_ to you, James Fraser. I’ve been sorting out this weeding all on my own, have you noticed that?” My voice faltered for a moment, but was once again fueled by the raging fire combusting within me. “Here’s to hoping you might bother to _show up_ at least, if work allows.” I sniggered, raising from the couch before his hand could find my arm.

I stormed out like the first winds of a hurricane, without giving him time to respond, crossing the road to seek refuge at my mother’s house. She wasn’t there, I knew - the Dean was back in Cardiff, before she took time off for our wedding - but I had a spare key.

I half-expected Jamie to follow me straight away; to bang on the door demanding entrance. But, apparently, I had given him cause for thinking, and he left me alone to brood all afternoon.

Eventually, when darkness had gathered, I braved the pile of snow outside to return to our own house. Jamie was clearly upstairs, as I could hear him moving, while I kicked my snow-caked boots off and padded to the living room.

I resolutely ignored the seating chart carefully placed on the coffee table ( _accusing me, accusing him_ ) and turned on the telly. After a while, I heard his resolute steps on the stairs and sensed his presence on the doorway.

“May I sit next to ye?” Jamie asked, looking somewhat uncertain.

“If you really _need to_.” I answered, making a point of sounding cross.

He gingerly sat on the edge of the couch farthest from my location, his long legs comically squeezed into the corner in order to take up as little space as possible. I emitted an annoyed sniffing noise, pretending to be completely focused on the contestants’ intellectual performance on the TV program.

“I owe ye an apology, Claire.” He started slowly, bracing his large hands on his knees. “Clearly, I havena been doin’ this properly.”

“It would mean a hell lot more if you had figured it out on your own.” I replied bitterly, abandoning all pretense of not paying him attention. My eyes felt very dry, my orbits like sandpaper. “I feel like a wedding planner you hired to prepare a wedding you don’t give a fuck about.”

He winced, as if I had punched him below the navel, as if he was about to curl in pain. “The only thing that ever mattered to me was that _I was marrying ye,_ _Sorcha_. Ye fulfilled all my dreams once ye asked. All else seemed to pale in comparison and to be of little consequence.” He swallowed hard, his eyes dark and honest. “But it wasna right of me to burden ye. I should have showed ye how much I cared.”

“You should have.” I nodded, biting down my bottom lip. “You need to find a balance and to prioritize, or _I will_ sit some old biddy on your lap.” I snorted.

“Aye.” He offered me a lopsided smile. “I will be here, I promise ye.”

We sat in companionable silence for a while; Jamie studying me worriedly and me trying to find a straight way out of my hurt, which seemed to be a convoluted and labyrinthic path.

“Come wi’ me outside, will ye?” He asked all of the sudden, gently pulling me off the couch. I stumbled, but his arms held me in place. “I’d like to dance with ye in the snow just now.”

“Are you mad?” My eyes widened, contemplating the courtyard and garden, asleep in hues of blinding white. “It’s freezing and I’m not even wearing shoes.” I wiggled my toes inside my fuzzy striped socks.

He raised his brows and, with a practiced movement (a _n expertise refined over months of carrying me to bed, to shower and to any surface where his body had chosen to make love to mine_ ), took me in his arms and transported me outside, through the sliding doors.

Snow had started to fall again in earnest and he raised my body as high as he could, open-armed, and twirled me against the icy crystals, until I was screeching in delight and cold.

Eventually, he slid me down, mindfully bracing my unprotected feet on top of his own booted extremities. _I saw a vague flash of him, teaching a young girl how to dance, just like that._ “Now we dance, hm?”

His large palms rested somewhere between my waist and jeans-clad buttocks, moving his feet and mine with them, in the sweetest and most awkward dance possible. “ _So darlin’, darlin’, stand by me_ ,” He sang tunelessly close to my ear, his voice husky and purposeful, choosing the famous words of _Ben E. King_ to tie himself to me once more. This was his vow - _I will err and come short my darling; and maybe so will you. But my mistakes will be of love and for love; and through love I will redeem_. “ _Oh stand by me, stand by me_.”

_I will love this man till the day I die._

When we were done dancing (my feet wet and numb, in spite of Jamie’s attempts to shield them), he carried me back inside and laid me gently on the rug in front of the fire.

I didn’t need to ask what he was doing, or why. I let him undress me slowly, with that same reverence and intentionality of our first time together, as he took his time courting the outskirts of me.

The night felt sacred around us. I rediscovered the hard planes of his back, as he worked me into a frenzy with his hand and the friction of his thigh. I traced his sweaty brow and marveled at the proximity of his face, the expression no other woman would know when he readied himself for joining.

His body was a swing, gently swaying into me, and I could feel that sweet exhilaration of defying gravity when we were together, building up in my belly with a quiver. There was another way for me to breathe, one that was solely achieved through his body, when he forced air out of my lungs with each thrust and movement of his hips.

The story of that night ( _the version possible of telling_ ), and of how I’d always think of it as our first and true marriage, would become our daughter’s absolute favourite tale.


	9. Husband (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first part of the last chapter of Something Beautiful – it would be a beast for my standards, if I posted it as one piece. I highly recommend listening to “She” by Elvis Costello on repeat through this, because it’s quite perfect.

##  **Part IX – Husband (I)**

On the eve of our wedding, I cut Jamie’s hair.

We were alone at our house, finally finding a moment of precious peace, since both our mothers had been appeased by all the completed preparations, and retired for some much-needed rest before the big day (“ _Must look good for all the Insta stories I’ll be posting tomorrow_ ”, my mum told me before she happily sauntered towards my previous address - her current kingdom -, her arm linked with Ellen’s).

This time, I not only traced the small mole behind his ear with my fingertips, but kissed it wholeheartedly, making him gasp ( _a shudder, the unspoken invitation of the tilt of his head_ ).

When I deemed myself content with my ministrations, he turned quickly on the leather couch, pulling me from my advantageous position and trapping my legs with his body with remarkable efficiency and finesse. Wordlessly, he undid the belt of my robe and opened it languidly, as he gazed into my eyes ( _a promise of dark desire, of light through it)_. I wondered how many times he had stopped himself from doing exactly that - ravishing me after I teased him mercilessly - over the years of our friendship, which to him had been the longest courtship.

His mouth was hot on my belly, and even hotter further down; I half-heartedly protested that we should be keeping some form of celibacy as nuptial traditions demanded, but his answer was to redouble his efforts and I said no more.

We showered together, happiness coating our nakedness along with the scent of soap ( _not citrus, nor floral, but undoubtedly sweet_ ), and afterwards we curled by the fire reading _Sharp Objects_ together _._ When my phone rang, I jumped to get it - I had been awaiting a call from my hairdresser to sort some last-minute details.

“Hello?” I smiled and nudged Jamie with my foot, as he mockingly tried to bite my big toe over the edge of the book’s cover. “Ah, Mister Jenkins, how are you? I wasn’t expecting a call from you today.”

Mister Jenkins was the manager of our wedding venue, a scrawny-looking Welshman that talked a storm. Usually his energy and optimism seemed endless, so as I heard the tone of profound preoccupation and regret in his voice, my concern was immediate.

_An unexpected flood due to last night’s storm,_ he informed, as my lips became completely numb. _The damage to the main hall and equipment, as well as all the decorations, is too great,_ I heard somewhere in the distance, _the wedding cannot take place tomorrow_. My hand was shaking intensely as he said, _I can rearrange things and should have another opening for you in six months or so_.

_Six months or so._

My growing paleness and incredulous silence must have alarmed Jamie, because soon enough he was retrieving the phone from my hand and scooping me up into his lap.

I cried then, instantly like a broken vessel, with a desolation that didn’t seem completely human or sane. Amidst my wrecking sobs, I could hear Jamie’s angry questions to Mister Jenkins over the line, how his voice quivered and swooped when he realized what had happened.

“ _Mo ghraidh. My Claire_.” Jamie whispered brokenly when he ended the call, holding me desperately against his chest - as if that same flood was about to take me to the depths where our wedding cake now rested, utterly ruined. He didn’t tell me not to weep; I wouldn’t have been able to stop, even if he did.

Eventually, when my tears had calmed into a soft stream instead of a veritable waterfall, he took me to rest on our freshly made bed ( _ready for one last night, before we departed for our honeymoon_ ). He must have talked, but I didn’t register much of his words. When he went downstairs again, after quietly kissing my perspired brow, I realized he must have gone to make the necessary calls.

_The calls to cancel our wedding_. _To let people know._

I closed my eyes until luminous dots appeared, and I followed them for a while, trying to coax myself into self-possession. In that quest, I chased an old memory, from our first days as neighbours.

It had been an unremarkable Saturday afternoon, during one of Aberdeen’s long winters, when daylight might be overlooked if one blinks at the wrong time. We had built a fortress of sherpa quilts and pillows on Jamie’s newly acquired couch, surrendering to a marathon of mindless telly-gawking and snack-gobbling, until we had to pop open the first button of our trousers. _Bridesmaids_ was playing to our absolute delight, both our feet carelessly propped up on the coffee table, as we watched _Anne_ ’s behaviour spiral out of control due to _Lillian_ ’s upcoming wedding.

“How do you think I’ll react when you get married, Duck?” I frowned, munching on some sweet potato crisps. “I certainly hope I can get along with your girlfriend, at least, and not be a complete wazzock over it.”

Jamie sucked accumulated salt from his thumb, seeming to take his time to come up with an answer. “I could never date a lass that didna get along with ye, Sassenach. That would be too much of a balls-up situation to handle.”

“Coming to think of it, you never really had a proper girlfriend for me to deal with.” I remarked pointedly, searching for crumbs at the bottom of the packet like a tracker dog. “I mean, you dated Annalise for a couple of months back at _North East College_ , but it seemed that you tried your damn hardest for us to barely see each other. It was as if I embarrassed you or _something_.”

“ _Not really._ ” He said under his breath, before he hawked and fidgeted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. I suspected that he resented the outcome of their relationship. “We didna socialize much, I have to say. Spent most of our time together - _erm_ \- _at her apartment_ , ye ken?”

“Christ, Jamie!” I threw a popcorn at his head in protest, the image of him and toff Annalise rolling together in bed strangely vivid inside my head. “At least you’ve met most of my boyfriends.”

Jamie rolled his eyes and grunted something that sounded a whole lot like “ _shag-mates_ ”. “I hope ye willna forget this nutter, when ye find yerself a fit bloke. And when ye tell me that he’s the real deal, I’ll do my verra best to befriend the man.” The lines around his mouth deepened, as if he was fighting a piercing cramp on his belly, perhaps product of one too many gummy bears.

“Good.” I smiled broadly, turning my head to watch the movie. “Because when I think of my wedding, the only thing I know for certain is that you’ll be there.”

I opened my eyes and watched the shadows of falling snowflakes across the curtains, drifting down into a new existence as a mass of crisp snow. I tried to force myself to believe _it would be alright_ \- six months was nothing, _an absurd really,_ a meaningless fraction of time compared to what we still had together ( _a lifetime, if I had any say in it_ ).

I rehearsed inside my head what I would tell Jamie, cool and collected, once he came back into the room; how I would disguise my complete disappointment, in order not to sadden him. But he must have been gone for a long time, because I fell asleep from exhaustion after my wrecking outburst, before he had returned upstairs.

“Claire.” His voice rippled like a thread of light in the darkness of my dreams ( _I curled against it, comfortable and peaceful, in my bodiless existence_ ). “Time to wake up, Sassenach.”

I grunted a complaint and rolled on my stomach, covering my head with the large pillow. Reality was finding a stealth way of creeping in, with the rudeness of a slap, as I gradually remembered the reason why my throat felt like sandpaper and my eyes like two burning coals.

“I don’t think I’m getting up today.” I grumbled with a rough voice, my eyes stubbornly closed against the growing clarity inside the bedroom, as Jamie opened the curtains. “I’m planning to sleep through it, if you don’t mind.”

“Aye. _I mind_ , actually.” He tickled the sole of my foot with a nagging finger, and I growled and kicked it away haphazardly. “Ye need to get up, _wee gremlin_. It’s that important that ye do.”

I huffed and reluctantly raised from the bed, offering him a murderous stare as I brushed curly hair away from my swollen face. “You’re relentless, my lad. What do you want me up for?”

“Follow me.” He smiled cheerfully, giving me a quick peck on my grubby cheek, and held my hands to pull my unenthusiastic body outside the bedroom.

We walked across the landing ( _in my case, a lukewarm movement mostly consisting of dragging fee_ t) and halted when we reached the closed door of the office.

“Yer wedding dress is inside, so I canna enter with ye.” Jamie looked at me with calm and tender-hearted eyes, a shade of blue that spoke of infinite horizons, where changing skies met benevolent seas. “Ye need to get dressed, _mo nighean donn_.”

“Duck,” I licked my lips, frowning. “What _the hell_ are you talking about? You know the ceremony won’t take place today - everything is ruined. Weeks of planning _gone to shit_.”

“See,” He brushed my neck, from the collar of my sweater to the tip of my jaw, and I mindlessly leaned against his touch. “I did a few calls yesterday - and well, throughout _a bit of the night_ \- and we’re still getting married today.”

“What?!” My jaw dropped and I felt somewhat faint. “How?”

“Well, come and see for yerself.” He smiled broadly ( _confident, smug and more than a little self-pleased_ ) and pointed to the closest window. I gawked at him for a moment, dumfounded, before I padded to peek through the shutters.

The spacious backyard was _filled with people_ ; immediately, I wondered how I had missed the sound of a crowd talking and moving around while I slept ( _safely_ _encased in a bubble of sadness and misery_ ). I recognized _HM Coastguard_ members, placing long tables in a line over the well-manicured lawn, like a colony of hardworking ants; work-colleagues from the A&E, carrying huge trays and baskets of food and drink, akin to professional caterers; my mother supervising an impromptu altar, crafted from a substantial piece of metallic mesh covered with winter flowers, pine cones and leaves.

“You - _you did this_?” I whispered, my voice hoarse with barely-suppressed emotion. While I had plunged into despair and surrendered to the dire ( _insurmountable_ ) circumstances, Jamie had fought to save our most-awaited day.

“As ye see, I had a lot of help.” He hugged me from behind and I entwined our hands above my ribcage, squeezing them together in silent gratitude. “It didna take much persuasion. Everybody was willin’ and contributed with what they could. I think we might have done something right in this life, Claire, to have friends who love us so.”

“I certainly did something right,” I turned inside his arms, brushing his lips with mine. Tears were falling down my face, but they felt like life itself against my skin _\- brisk, wonderful, complex_ \- and I allowed them to run freely. “To deserve a man who loves me so.”

“I failed ye the first time we planned this wedding.” Jamie hummed and gripped me against his strong, yet lean, body. “I willna fail ye a second time. Are you truly alright with this, Sassenach? No’ kirk, no’ grand venue, no’ vintage car to drive ye to the cerimony?”

“ _You’re here_.” I smiled wholeheartedly, waving at my mother, who was beckoning us. “And that’s all it takes.”


	10. Husband (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some stories find us exactly at the right time. The story of Duck and Sassenach found me when I needed it the most and brought to me the kind of rare joy I will cherish forever. There’s a different kind of power in telling a light, happy, story, that I truly enjoyed discovering. While this arc closes today, I’m not saying goodbye – I intend to visit them again, more than likely through ficlets, and I count on you to tell me what you’d like to read as well. Thank you to all who read, supported, commented and championed Duck as he fought to be with the girl of his dreams and to make her absurdly happy. All my love, Kal. X

##  **Part X – _Husband_ (II)**

**_Jamie_ ** **  
**

_The Red String of Fate_.

On the last month of my solo travels, I had found myself in Japan, searching for the peace of raining cherry blossoms, quiet temples and ancient tales of unbreakable honour. There, I was told about the legend of an invisible red thread, tied around the little finger by the gods, which connects those who are destined to be together, regardless of time, place and circumstance. It is said the _Red String of Fate_ may stretch or tangle, but it _will never break_.

After that occasion, I had decided to return to Scotland. _To Claire_.

I had long before realized my love for her _would never break_ or be tamed, no matter how many mountains I stretched that thread across or how many deep oceans I submerged it in. Our thread was long and unyielding, thickened by years of familiarity, connecting me to her irreversibly.

Only many years later, I would start to believe she might feel the pull of that thread too, tugging her ever closer ( _that I, alone, possessed the other end_ ).

I don’t think I’ve ever loved her as much as I did that night, as I saw her walking towards me on the beach near our house, surrounded by a cloak of darkness and stars. Even if her stunning wedding dress seemed somewhat mismatched with knee-high Wellington boots, a long black parka coat and a set of colourful mittens and beanie, I’d never seen her more striking.

As I watched her, the pad of my thumb pressed the cold metal of the wedding band against my flesh for the umpteenth time, anchoring me to its realness. _The now visible end of my thread_.

“Hiding out here, are you?” Claire accused me amicably, before she plopped down unceremoniously next to me, well within the merciful influence of a bonfire. The dress’ fabric billowed around her, like a fallen cloud laying in the sand for one night’s rest. “The party is still going strong. Mrs. Graham was forming a _conga line_ just before I escaped to find you. Tipsy people are sleeping and cavorting everywhere in the house.”

I grunted, somewhat desperately. “I’m exhausted. Shouldn’t they be as well?”

She sighed, fished inside her large right pocket and produced my _Voldemort Funko Pop_ keychain, dangling from her index finger. “If I wave this around, do you think it will drive the message home?”

I raised a brow and offered her a lopsided grin, tracing the side of her digit with my fingernail in teasing slowness. “I love our friends and family something fierce, but I’d like verra much for them _to leave now_ , in order for me to take ye to bed, _mo nighean donn_.”

“A man with a solid plan, if I ever heard one, Duck.” Claire leaned against my shoulder, covered by my wedding attire and an old _Fraser tartan_ I had rescued for extra shelter before wandering outside. “Do you think I should keep these super racy boots on, when we finally make this wedding official? They really compliment my special _lingerie_.”

I turned my head so fast, my cervical area popped audibly. “How _special_ is it?” I questioned predatorially, tracing the outline of her breasts with my eyes, as I rubbed the back of my neck.

“Oh, _you know_.” My wife brushed a strand of tenacious hair away from her face, both her engagement and wedding rings glowing happily in the soft firelight. “Expensive, whiter-than-white and flimsy. It’s almost laughable to call _that_ knickers, to be honest.” 

I moaned brokenly, dropping my head down like a man defeated, and she cackled.

“We are quite alone here, though.” Claire said in a hoarse voice, before she pulled herself unto my lap in a surprisingly swift movement, considering the unusual volume of her skirt. “I have to say, _husband_ , that wedding ring is quite the aphrodisiac. I’m knackered and freezing - and I still want you _so much_ it hurts a little.”

I swallowed hard, making the treacherous crossing on the rope bridge between her face and the fertile valley below her neck, unable to stop myself from touching her, _rousing her_. “ _Claire_. _Mo ghraidh_. I think there will be time to undress ye later, to relish on every layer as I take it off ye – to be gentle and chivalrous about it. But right now, I just want verra badly to be inside ye and to hear ye callin’ me “ _husband_ ” again. I want to savour it straight from yer lips.”

_Husband._

Standing at the improvised altar, I wasn’t nervous waiting for her. _Not really._ Inside me, joy and eagerness were like barely subdued embers, a fire crackling in time with her name. Snow had finally stopped falling early that morning, the ground unusually thick with it for the coastal area. It lent quietness and a silver-glow to the garden, broken only by the distant roar of waves, guests of our celebration ( _the only lovers I embraced beyond her_ ).

Before too long, Claire was walking towards me, her hand firmly entwined with Julia’s. Her wedding dress was delicate but understated, with lace framing her wing-shaped collarbones. A gathering of small winter flowers replaced a traditional wedding veil, crowing her simple half-updo. But her glorious smile was my favourite thing for her to wear; I doubted I’d call something else _exquisite_ ever again. 

When they reached me, Julia kissed her daughter’s temple lovingly and offered her hand to me, patting my own cheek with great tenderness and winking complicitly. Claire’s hand touched my wristwatch in passing ( _we were finally meeting in forever_ ), before our fingers found each other and locked together.

_“I love that you dance with me when you’re wrong.”_ Claire said in her vows, her eyes the most fragrant and perfectly steeped earl-grey tea, as she beamed at me. _“I love that you always cut a sandwich in four just for me. I love that you understand "I’m fine” means I’m really bloody not. I love that you always mean the kisses you give me._

_So, James Fraser, any promises I make to you must be as real as my love for you and the things you do._

_I promise to hold your hand every dentist appointment. I promise to make sure you never leave the house with mismatching socks. I promise to always respect the things you love to do. I promise to always find silence for you to speak. I promise never to misdirect my anger at you. I promise to really love you when I say that I do. And I promise never to let your candle battle any darkness alone._

_On this day I swear it for all to see - my love, you are the only one for me.“_

***

**_20 years later_ **

As I climbed the stairs towards our bedroom, I realized for the first time that my knee cracked a little when I quickened my pace. The sound surprised me ( _amused me),_ as if auld age had just become corporeal in the hallway and winked companionably at me. I was broaching fifty, so I was slowly starting the journey of re-discovering my aging body, with rigidity and laxity in all the wrong places.

I opened the door to the bedroom and spotted her, cocooned in the thick comforter, her smart ( _sensua_ l) eyeglasses perched on the tip of her nose.

“Any luck breaching the mighty fortress of adolescence, Duck?” She asked kindly, raising her eyes from her book.

I sighed, sitting on my side of the bed to take off my working boots. “In between hearty grunts and eye-rolling, I think I might ha’gotten the gist of it, Sassenach.”

“Please, _do share_.” She marked the page and placed the hardback on her bedside table, smiling softly as I started to undress my uniform. “What’s going on with Grace? Her temper at dinner almost scared the poor roasted veal away.”

“It appears that Mister Euan has finally made a move.” My lips pressed unconsciously, as a nagging protective instinctive gurgled in my wame. “He told the wee duckie he has been in love wi’her since nursery school, or so I imagine. It was _quite the shock_.”

Euan MacTavish had been our daughter’s closest friend since they were about five; his presence at our table or in our couch had ceased to be a surprise many years ago. The not-entirely-platonic nature of his feelings hadn’t completely eluded Claire and I, ever since they had entered puberty, in spite of our daughter’s own apparent obliviousness. It amazed me that the lad had managed to reach the ripe age of sixteen before making a fool of himself ( _I thought no man was able to compete with me in that department_ ).

“I can imagine that quite perfectly.” My wife’s amber eyes softened with memories, and she touched the space between my shoulder blades with a loving hand. “That kind of thing can catch you pretty off guard.”

"Ah, _weil_ ,” I put on my loose pyjama bottoms, glancing at my wife with the intense hope they would soon be discarded. “ _She kens it now_. It proper messed her up.”

“Maybe I should go make her some tea - or _something stronger_ ; it worked for me.” Claire wiggled her brows and scooted over to spoon against me, as soon as I pushed down the coverlets. Her body was blissfully warm, and the patches of skin left exposed by her nightgown were silky and alluring. I felt myself harden a little against the curve of her hip, in spite of the seriousness of the matter at hand. “I have to say, I’m stunned that you haven’t marched outside to buy a riffle to threaten our daughter’s suitor. Some admirable restraint, my love. You must really like the boy.”

I snorted against the curve of her neck, a passionate open-mouthed kiss turning into a faint, sloppy, raspberry. “Euan came to my office last time he was here. Told me he _like-liked_ her and _respected her greatly_ ,” I rolled my eyes, reinforcing that I knew well enough how _respect_ worked at sixteen going on seventeen. “And that he was going to tell her soon and hoped I approved of the match.” I smiled wolfishly. “He didn’t cave even when I gave him my best _Principal Officer of the Coastguard_ stare. The lad is lion-hearted, I’ll give him that much.”

Claire giggled and kissed the hollow of my throat, slowly turning her body so that her thigh crawled around my waist. I could feel her - _tender and hot and yearning -_ but knew that making her wait a little ( _anticipating, devising the best assault on my senses)_ always brought the best possible reward.

“And what of Grace?” She asked in a slightly husky voice, _her bed voice_ , her wanton calling when she fought against lust instead of instantly surrendering. “Does she reciprocate his feelings?”

“She is confused.” I rolled my hips just so, pressing myself in promise against her growing warmth, need acknowledging need. “I think she likes him too, but is afraid of losing his friendship. Of ruining a really good thing, perhaps.”

Claire kissed my lips, slow and sure, looking at me under her lashes. “And what did you tell her, then?”

I touched her cheek with tenderness, combing the fine light hairs close to her ear, more silver than brown, delighted by her shallow breath, by the extraordinary love who remained the same after so many years. “I told her a story about _something beautiful_.”

****

**_The End_ **


End file.
